THROUGH  THE  SCHOOL 


I  APPEARED  BEFORE  THE  PRESIDENT  CONSIDERABLY  UNNERVED 


THROUGH  THE 
SCHOOL 

THE  EXPERIENCES  OF  A  MILL  BOY 
IN  SECURING  AN  EDUCATION 


BY 

AL  PRIDDY 

Author  of:  Through  the  Mill:  The  Life  of  a  Mill  Boy 


THE  PILGRIM  PRESS 

BOSTON       NEW   YORK       CHICAGO 


COPYRIGHT,    1912 
BY    LUTHER   H.    CARY 


Published,  September,  1912 


THB. PLIMPTON-PRESS 

[W-D.O] 
NORWOOD  •MASS>U-S-A 


TO 

W.H.S. 

In  the  same  terms  and  pictures  I  iwnld  employ  were 

I  in  the  cheer  of  his  parson's  study  giving 

my  experiences  by  word  oj  mouth. 


Preface 


L  HESE  forty  chapters  of  absolutely  real 
autobiography  are  intended  to  give  the 
reader  faith  in  American  education  and  to 
reconstruct  the  human  struggles  and  tests  of 
character  which  attend  the  progress  of  the  poor 
but  ambitious  lads  through  a  formal  education 
for  life. 


Contents 


CHAPTER  I  PAGE 

Fifteen  Dollars  and  Sixty-five  Cents  Worth  of  International  Travel. 
An  Inspiring  Reception  in  Front  of  Chief  Pungo  Memorial 
Hall 8 

CHAPTEB  II 

/  Help  a  Real  Poet  to  Sing  his  Hymn.    My  First  Chance  and  How  I 

Succeeded  with  U 24 

CHAPTER  III 

Thropper's  Puff  Tie.  Sounds  That  Passed  in  the  Night.  The 
Possible  Advantages  of  Speaking  Tubes.  The  Scroll  of  Divine 
History.  The  Meditations  of  a  Saint.  How  Thropper  Lost  his 
Pious  Reputation 36 

CHAPTER  IV 

Thundering  Gymnastics.  How  to  Keep  on  the  Good  Side  of  the 
Young  Women  with  Scriptural  Quotations.  The  Establishment 
of  Friendship.  Carrying  Water  for  Beauty.  How  Music  may 
be  Something  More  than  Music.  The  Wonderful,  Austere  Man 
that  Thropper  led  me  to 44 

CHAPTER  V 

Pungo  Hall's  Occupants:  Estes  Who  Planned  to  Take  a  Tent  and 
Plant  it  in  the  Midst  of  The  World's  Sin;  of  The  Little  Man 
Who  Fled  from  the  Chidings  of  a  'D.D.':  of  Calloused  Hands 
and  Showing  How  "Pan  Borden  was  Beaten  by  the  Grass 
Widower  with  The  Long  Hair 58 

CHAPTER  VI 

A  Financial  Pessimism  Taken  in  Hand  by  Thropper  and  Shown 
in  it's  Real  Light.  A  Turkish  Rug  that  Smoked.  A  Poet  in 
Search  of  Kerosene.  The  Wonderful  Antics  of  an  Ironing- 
Board.  Economy  at  a  Tub  and  Three  Waiting  for  it  After  Brock's 
Bath.  The  Chemical  Reduction  of  a  Cauldron  of  Tomatoes  into 
Something  Sweet 67 

CHAPTER  VII 

An  Academic  Ride  in  Five  Carriages  at  Once.  A  Business  Appeal 
Mixed  in  with  the  Order  of  Creation.  How  We  Got  Lost  in  a 
Discussion.  Whether  it  is  Best  for  a  Man  to  Marry  his  First 

[ix] 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Love.  A  Sleuth-Dean.  A  Queen's  Birthday  Supper  with  an 
Athletic  Conclusion.  Jerry  Birch  Stands  up  for  Albion.  How 
toe  Tamed  him 80 

CHAPTER  VIII 

The  Doctrinal  Temper  of  the  University,  and  Thropper's  Talk 
about  it.  Introduces  the  Select  Board  of  the  Pharisees.  A 
Prayer-meeting  Monopoly  Combated  by  Independants.  Jason 
on  my  Track  and  How  it  Came  out 89 

CHAPTER  IX 

My  Trip  into  the  Magic  World  of  the  Past.    How  Appreciation  is 
sometimes  Worth  More  than  Money.    Jason  and  his  Coterie  on 
Scent  of  Terrible  Heresies.    How  God  Takes  Care  of  His  Orators. 
How  a  Big  Soul  can  go  through  Annoyances 102 

CHAPTER  X 

The  Magnitude  of  a  Postage  Stamp.  Showing  how  Desperate  the 
Thirst  for  Money  made  me.  Brock's  Rosy  Nose  and  its  Possi- 
bilities as  a  Fireplace.  How  Brock  thought  he  was  Fooling 
me  and  the  Other  Way  About.  The  Barrow  that  Became  our 
Enemy  and  how  Brock  Revenged  himself  on  it 109 

CHAPTER  XI 

How  I  Competed  with  Patrick  Henry  and  was  made  Aware  of  a 
Waste  of  the  Eighth  Letter  of  the  Alphabet.  How  I  Condensed 
all  my  Studies  into  an  Oration.  How  the  Populace  Greeted 
my  Rehearsal.  Striking  the  Top  Pitch 119 

CHAPTER  XII 

The  Personnel  of  "  The  Clamorous  Eight"  and  other  Social  Matters. 
The  " Blepoes"  and  The  "  Boulomaies"  Invite  me  into  Fellow- 
ship with  a  Protest  from  Jason.  Epics  and  Lyrics  of  Love. 
"Pa"  Borden  Speaks  for  the  Benedicts  on  a  Momentous  Matter. 
How  the  Magic  Tree  Lured  Some  Unfaithful  Ones  from  their 
Sworn  Duty 126 

CHAPTER  XIII 

How  One  Dollar  and  a  Half  Secured  "  The  Devil  in  Society."  The 
Medicine  Chest  which  Became  a  Tract  Depository  under  the 
Teachings  of  a  New  Creed.  How  I  Stuck  to  Orthodoxy  .  .  .  135 

CHAPTER  XIV 

A  Chapter  Depicting  how  Strife  Existed  Between  the  Pro-Gymnasiums 
and  the  Anti-Gymnasiums  and  Showing  how  baseball,  Debates 
and  an  Epidemic  Determined  Matters  This  Way  and  That  .  .  140 

[x] 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XV  PAGE 

A  Ph.D.  in  a  Clay  Ditch  and  the  Futility  of  it.  A  Can  of  Beam 
at  the  Conclusion  of  a  Morbid  Meditation.  How  Thropper  and 
I  Played  David  and  Jonathan 145 

CHAPTER  XVI 

Visions,  Hysteria,  Dogma,  and  Poor  Lessons  to  the  Front  when 
the  Revivalists  Arrived.  How  Natural  it  Sounded  when 
" Bird"  Tkurlow  Asked  a  Flippant  Question 151 

CHAPTER  XVII 

My  Presidential  Pose  and  its  Central  Place  in  "  The  Record." 
A  Wistful  Glance  and  Some  Practical  Plans  towards  Eastern 
Education.  How  the  Little  Sparrow  Brought  my  Class  Colors 
as  I  Gave  the  Class  "Oration"  Ends  in  a  Fight  ....  157 

CHAPTER  XVIII 

Thropper  Unfolds  Something  Better  than  Canned  Foods.  A  Lesson 
with  the  Flat  Iron.  Thropper  Proposes  that  I  Chaperone 
Horses 162 

CHAPTER  XIX 

A  Chapter  Which  Has  to  do  with  a  Series  of  Exciting  Affairs  that 
Occurred  between  the  West  and  the  East,  and  Which  are  Better 
to  Read  about  than  to  Endure 171 

CHAPTER  XX 

My  Aunt  Millie's  Interpretation  of  Education.     The  Right  Sort  of 

an  Adviser  Gets  Hold  of  me 188 

CHAPTER  XXI 

Over  the  Sea  to  a  New  Educational  Chance.  How  I  Revenged  Myself 
on  the  Hungry  Days.  The  Cloistered  Serenity  of  the  New 
Place 197 

CHAPTER  XXII 

Stoves  with  Traditions,  Domestic  Habits,  and  Greek,  "Boys  Will 

be  Boys" 204 

CHAPTER  XXIII 

A  Plot  Which  had  for  its  End  the  Raising  up  of  a  Discouraged, 

Young  Preacher 208 

CHAPTER  XXTV 

Burner,  a  Searcher  After  Truth.    How  a  May-Pole  Subdued  a  Tribe 

of  Little  Savages 219 

[Xi] 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXV  PAGE 

At  the  Heart  of  Human  Nature.  A  Confidential  Walk  with  a 
Dollar  Bill  at  the  End  of  it.  A  Philosophical  Observation 
from  the  Stage-Driver 226 

CHAPTER  XXVI 

The  Strange  Adventure  of  Burner  into  Nothing,  and  How  my  Own 
Mind  Got  into  Trouble,  and  How  my  Faith  was  Strengthened 
under  the  Chapel  Window 285 

CHAPTER  XXVII 

The  Wonderful  Summer  on  the  Pleasure  Island 243 

CHAPTER  XXVIII 

How  a  Parsonage  Suggests  a  Wife.     The  Convincing  Revelations  of 

a  Phrenologist  Who  Examined  The  Students'  Bumps       .     .     .     248 

CHAPTER  XXIX 

It  Devolves  upon  me  to  Entertain  a  Guest.  The  Sentimental  Con- 
sequences Which  Ensued 256 

CHAPTER  XXX 

A  Heretic  Hunter.  The  Orthodoxy  of  the  Seminary  Admirably 
Defended.  I  Contract  a  Fashionable  Disease,  and  also  Receive 
a  Very  Unsettling  Letter 263 

CHAPTER  XXXI 

How  Some  of  the  Joys  of  Friendship  Came  to  me  in  the  Tower 
Room.  The  Orator  in  the  White  Vest.  How  Soon  I  Lost  my 
Diploma 269 

CHAPTER  XXXII 

How,  Though  I  was  Ready  for  Service,  I  was  Forestalled  by  a  New 

Trouble,  and  the  very  Interesting  Plan  Which  Came  Out  of  it  .     276 

CHAPTER  XXXIII 

Of  la  Village  where  Locomotive  Whistles  Sounded  like  Lingering 
Music:  of  the  Esthetic  Possibilities  in  a  College  Catalogue:  of 
a  Journey  over  the  Hills  to  the  College  where  we  find,  besides  a 
Wonderful  Array  of  Structures,  a  Large  Room  and  the  Junior 
with  his  Barnful  of  Furniture 282 

CHAPTER  XXXTV 

My  Wife  Packs  me  off  to  College.  The  Senior  and  I  Stop  at  a 
Rock  for  a  Drink,  Meet  the  Advance  Guard  of  Students,  Plunge 
into  a  Bedlam,  and  Witness  the  Labors  of  the  Freshmen.  The 

[Xii] 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Finger-study  of  Quarles  and  my  Apology  Given  to  the  Retired 
Medical  Man  who  was  Specializing  in  Hens 292 

CHAPTER  XXXV 

Hot-Popovers  and  a  Cold  Watch  in  the  Station.    The  Sleigh-load 

of  Talent 315 

CHAPTER  XXXVI 

A  Chapter  of  Sentiment  and  Literary  Atmosphere,  Including  the 
Account  of  Sanderson,  the  Procrastinator.  How  Two  Prize  Checks 
Were  Spent.  A  Parish  of  Talent 823 

CHAPTER  XXXVII 

Tieresias,  the  Blind  Prophet,  and  Squeem,  the  Student  in  the  Back- 
waters of  College  Life.  A  Night  of  Grim  Fate 348 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

A  Chapter  in  which  a  Hero  Does  a  Thing  to  his  Credit    ....     359 

CHAPTER  XXXIX 

The  Lost  Parrot.  Academic  Burlesque.  The  Nervousness  of  the 
Final  Minute.  A  Religious  Outcropping  in  a  Non-Pious 
Heart 379 

CHAPTER  XL 

In  Which  the   Account  Comes  to  a  Conclusion  in  the    Life   of  a 

Relative.    Martin  Quotes  Spanish,  and  has  the  LAST  WORD       .     387 


[  xiii  ] 


Illustrations 


I  APPEARED  BEFORE  THE  PRESIDENT  CONSIDER- 
ABLY UNNERVED Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

JASON,  THE  POET,  LOOKED  IN 76 

EVANGELICAL  UNIVERSITY  WAS  TREATED  TO  ITS 

FIRST  MATCH  GAME 142 

SAY,  How  MUCH  Yo'  WANT  FO'  DAT  WATCH?    .     184 

So  ARM  IN  ARM   THE  BLIND    STUDENT    AND    I    . 
WALKED  350 


[xv] 


THROUGH   THE  SCHOOL 


THROUGH   THE 
SCHOOL 


Chapter  L  Fifteen  Dollars  and 
Sixty-five  Cents  W^orth  of  Inter- 
national  Travel.  An  Inspiring 
Reception  in  Front  of  Chief  Pungo 
Memorial  Hall 

IT  was  like  taking  off  an  old,  worn,  unadorn- 
ing  suit  of  clothes  as  the  Boston  Express 
whirled  me  away  from  the  City  of  Mills. 
It  hummed  with  me  over  the  streets  on 
which  I  had  walked  to  and  from  work  as 
a  mill  boy.     It  darted  me  past  the  rows  of  tene- 
ments where  sordid  and  sinful  memories  lin- 
gered.    "  Thank  God !    Thank  God ! "     Out  and 
away  from  it  all.     Away  from  the  hum,  the  bee- 
like,  monotonous  hum  of  the  mill  machines  that 
overpower  the  nerves  and  dull  the  spirit  of  the 

[3] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

workers!  Away  from  the  bells  and  blaring  fog 
whistles  that  disturb  the  sleep  of  tired,  weary, 
discouraged  toilers;  the  bells  and  whistles  that 
sometimes  mean  the  jubilant  clamor  of  the 
mills  over  their  moaning,  rebellious  workers. 
Past  the  pale  faces  that  waited  at  the  crossings 
for  the  train  to  pass;  faces  whose  eyes  gleamed 
with  an  instant's  wish  that  the  train  had  them 
in  it,  too!  Yes,  I  was  the  chosen  from  among 
over  twenty  thousand  workers  that  day.  I  was 
actually  on  my  way  to  seek  an  education! 
There,  for  proof  that  it  was  no  dream,  was  my 
long  green  ticket  with  its  dozen  coupons  in  my 
hands!  There  was  my  brand  new  suit  case! 
How  lucky  I  was !  Think  of  the  fellows  who  had 
better  mental  furnishing  than  I,  who  had  even 
money  in  the  bank,  parents  who  were  urging  them 
to  strive  for  an  education,  friends  who  would 
loan  them  money,  and  yet,  they  were  going  to 
the  mill  at  that  very  moment,  and  would  go 
tomorrow,  and  the  day  after,  because  they  were 
afraid  to  make  the  break!  Then  I  thought: 
"Well,  they  would  have  made  the  break  long 
ago  if  they  had  lived  with  an  aunt  and  uncle 
who  wasted  their  money  on  drink.  That  would 
frighten  them  into  it.  There's  some  good  in 
evil  after  all.  I  shouldn't  be  on  this  train  today 
if  my  foster  parents  had  been  kinder,  more 
considerate!  I  guess  it'd  be  a  good  thing  if  a 
few  of  the  other  mill  fellows,  who  are  am- 
bitious, had  something  like  it  to  frighten  them 

[4] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

off.  It's  probably  the  only  way  they'll  go  out 
and  make  their  chance!" 

Then  the  vision  of  the  country-side,  painted 
in  the  glories  of  Autumn,  the  flashing  views  of 
cranberry  bogs,  crowded  with  sun-bonneted 
pickers,  called  my  mind  to  the  new  joys  of  exist- 
ence. Here  I  was,  out  in  the  world  at  last! 
Not  the  romp  of  a  holiday,  with  the  mill  room 
for  next  morning,  not  a  vacation  of  two  days 
with  a  return  at  the  end  of  it;  but  the  begin- 
ning of  an  education,  a  start  towards  a  pro- 
fession, a  great  big  chance  at  last  to  "make 
something  of  myself!" 

"Here,"  I  said  to  the  train  boy,  as  he  was 
about  to  pass  me,  "give  me  a  packet  of  that 
there  gum  —  the  peppermint  sort."  That  train 
boy  didn't  know,  as  I  paid  him  the  five  cents 
by  giving  him  a  dollar  bill  to  change,  that  the 
purchase  was  the  greatest  luxury  I  should  have 
on  that  trip  of  fifteen  hundred  miles. 

While  working  in  the  mill,  I  had  never  been 
able  to  afford  a  trip  to  Boston,  so  when  I  arrived 
in  the  station,  and  realized  that  I  was  even  going 
beyond  it,  on  my  first  excursion,  I  said  to  my- 
self, "Boston  is  only  the  first,  small  step  in 
your  travel!"  The  next  coupon  on  my  long 
ticket  paid  my  fare  from  the  South  Station  to 
the  North  —  in  a  CAB  WITH  A  UNIFORMED 
DRIVER!!  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  been  in  a 
cab,  except  at  a  funeral.  I  was  pleased  when 
the  driver  took  me  through  the  main  streets; 

[5] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

glad  when  he  had  to  move  cautiously  through 
congested  traffic,  because  people  could  see  me, 
as  I  sat  nonchalantly  in  the  cab.  I  took  care 
to  see  that  the  blinds  were  up  as  far  as  possible. 

In  the  North  Station,  when  the  cab  driver 
had  taken  me  to  the  train,  the  car  that  I  was 
to  travel  on,  to  Montreal,  was  marked  off  from 
its  fellows  by  its  salmon  color.  Awed,  im- 
pressed, I  went  groping  through  the  dim  car 
until  I  found  a  vacant  seat  into  which  I  com- 
fortably arranged  myself.  But  as  the  train 
pulled  out,  I  studied  my  railroad  map,  and,  on 
discovering  that  the  Green  Mountains  would 
be  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  railroad,  I  made 
haste  to  change  my  seat,  so  that  I  might 
insure  myself  a  view  of  them;  for  I  had  never 
seen  a  mountain  in  my  life. 

That  ride  of  twelve  hours,  on  an  express, 
did  not  tire  me  one  bit.  I  was  before  the  world 
with  a  starved,  hungry  mind  and  starved, 
hungry  eyes.  I  kept  my  eyes  glued  on  the  out- 
of-doors.  Yes,  I  watched  both  sides  of  the  car 
at  once.  I  listened  for  the  comments  around 
me  and  if  anything  of  interest  was  mentioned 
I  bobbed  up  my  head  to  look.  I  watched  the 
time-table  for  the  stations  so  that  I  might  know 
when  the  train  passed  from  one  State  to  an- 
other. I  was  actually  passing  through  whole 
States  —  five  of  them  in  all !  Five  States  of 
the  United  States  of  America!  There  were  few 
details  that  I  did  not  observe.  I  watched  the 

[6] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

farms,  the  villages,  the  back  yards  of  cities; 
watched  the  flying  trees,  the  colors  of  soil,  the 
crops  that  were  being  reaped,  the  winding  roads, 
and  the  vehicles  that  waited  for  us  at  the 
country  crossings. 

At  noon  we  were  lumbering  through  the 
streets  of  Manchester,  N.H.,  past  the  long  canal 
which  flows  like  a  sluggish  moat  along  the  dis- 
mal wall  of  the  mill.  Crowds  of  workers  were 
waiting  for  us  at  the  crossings ;  watching  us  with 
looks  of  envy,  I  thought.  I  threw  up  my  win- 
dow, leaned  back  in  my  seat,  and  ostenta- 
tiously chewed  gum  with  a  smug,  proud  look, 
with  which  I  hoped  to  show  the  mill  boys  how 
unconcerned  I  was  about  being  a  passenger  on 
a  Montreal  Express! 

It  was  not  until  we  had  cleared  the  big  cot- 
ton factory  towns  and  cities  of  New  England 
that  I  felt  entirely  like  an  adventurer,  however. 
Only  by  the  time  the  cities  had  been  left,  the 
big  cities,  and  the  small  towns  were  succeeded 
by  country  villages,  and  the  country  villages 
by  vast  wildernesses  of  woods  and  uncultivated 
fields,  did  I  feel  satisfied.  Then  I  knew  that 
if  a  train  wreck  should  end  my  journeying,  I 
could  settle  down  on  some  farm.  I  should  not 
have  to  go  back  into  the  mill. 

By  watching  my  time-table  carefully,  I  knew 
when  to  look  for  the  mountains ;  but  long  before 
we  reached  the  place  appointed  for  the  vision, 
my  heart  was  leaping  with  expectation.  We 

[7] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

had  reached  the  hilly  country,  and  every  high 
knoll  served  me  for  a  mountain.  But  on  and 
on  and  on,  past  [soaring  foothills,  went  the 
train  until  what  seemed  a  slate-colored  storm- 
cloud,  a  thin  veil  of  atmosphere,  caught  my 
attention.  Then,  as  the  train  turned  a  bend, 
the  foothills  dropped  away,  and  there,  like  a 
majestic  dream,  higher  than  anything  on  earth 
before  imagined,  were  the  mountains! 

Following  the  delight  of  the  mountains,  I 
had  to  think  of  our  approach  into  another  coun- 
try. We  were  actually  going  to  leave  the 
United  States  and  enter  Canada!  Immedi- 
ately the  English  blood  stirred  within  me.  I 
was  actually  entering  the  domains  of  the  Queen. 
Just  over  the  border,  the  train  stopped  at  a 
little  village  for  water.  I  spoke  to  the  brake- 
man.  "Please,  mister,"  I  said,  "how  long 
will  we  stop?"  "Eight  minutes  altogether," 
he  replied;  "eight  sure."  "Are  we  really 
in  Canada  now?"  I  ventured.  "Yep,"  he  said 
with  decision,  "this  is  Canada,  sure  enough." 
;<Then  I'm  going  to  get  off,  for  a  couple  of  min- 
utes," I  said.  I  didn't  explain  to  him  the 
motive  I  had  in  getting  off.  It  was  to  put  the 
soles  of  my  shoes  on  FOREIGN  SOIL!  Un- 
fortunately there  had  been  a  generous  rain 
that  had  mixed  with  the  dirt  of  the  village  road, 
so  that  when  I  sought  to  step  on  Canadian 
earth  I  was  called  upon  to  wallow  in  Cana- 
dian mud,  and  that  I  would  not  do.  "Never 

[8] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

mind,"  I  consoled  myself  with.  "This  board 
walk  is  a  Canadian  board  walk  and  will  do." 
So  I  ran  a  hundred  yards  into  the  village  along 
the  board  walk  and  came  back  to  the  train  sat- 
isfied. I  had  stepped  on  Queen  Victoria's 
territory,  come  what  might. 

When  the  darkness  shut  out  the  view,  even 
then  I  did  not  keep  my  eyes  from  the  windows. 
I  did  not  know  what  sights  I  should  get  a  view 
of  even  in  the  darkness.  But  all  I  saw  of  towns 
were  lights,  like  stars,  followed  by  masses  of  inky 
night.  Then  we  stopped  at  a  Canadian  city  sta- 
tion. I  pushed  up  the  window,  and  heard  the 
great  French  chatter  that  went  on  outside.  Not 
a  word  of  English  could  I  pick  out,  neither  did 
I  want  to  hear  such  a  word.  It  would  have 
spoiled  all.  At  last  I  was  in  a  new  country, 
among  a  people  who  spoke  a  different  language 
from  my  own!  I  was  a  real  traveler  at  last! 

At  ten  o'clock  the  lights  of  Montreal,  strings 
of  stars,  flashed  by  the  windows.  Three  miles 
away  from  the  station  the  passengers  became 
restless.  Some  of  them  stood  up  and  waited 
during  all  that  time.  At  last  the  brakeman 
called  out  with  finality,  a  downward  deflection 
of  the  last  syllable,  as  if  that  ended  his  day, 
"Mon-tree-AL!" 

There  my  ticket  told  me  I  should  have  to 
change.  The  next  stage  of  my  journey  would 
take  me  along  the  border  of  Canada  as  far  as 
Detroit;  an  all-night  journey. 

[9] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

During  the  hour  that  I  had  to  wait  in  Mon- 
treal, I  went  on  a  thrilling,  timid  sight-seeing. 
I  recollect  to  have  seen  a  couple  of  dim-lit 
business  streets,  silent,  ghostly,  a  couple  of 
buildings  which  must  have  been  structures  of 
importance  in  daylight,  and  a  sign  which  could 
be  read  because  it  was  directly  in  the  glare  of  an 
arc  light,  "National  Bank.'*  Having  seen  so 
much,  and  satisfied  my  provincial  soul  on  so  spare 
a  meal,  I  went  back  to  get  on  my  new  train. 

I  found  myself  in  a  most  comfortable  car. 
The  seat  was  well  padded,  the  back  was  high 
enough  to  serve  for  a  pillow,  and  there  was  no 
one  in  the  seat  in  front.  So  I  turned  over  that 
seat,  took  off  my  coat  and  hat,  unlaced  my 
shoes  and  put  them  on  one  side,  leaned  back 
with  a  sigh  of  content,  ready  for  a  night's  rest 
when  —  the  conductor  came  down  the  aisle, 
looked  at  my  ticket,  and  said,  "This  is  a  first 
class  car  and  you  have  a  second  class  ticket. 
The  next  car  ahead,  sir!'* 

I  slung  my  coat  over  my  arm,  picked  up  my 
shoes  and  suit  case  and  went  into  the  car  ahead. 
It  was  a  Tourist  Sleeping  car  and  was  filled, 
largely,  with  a  medley  of  Europeans.  Euro- 
peans, too,  with  peasant  manners,  with  peasant 
dirt  and  peasant  breath.  There  was  odor  of 
garlic  mixed  wTith  odor  of  stale  rye  bread,  as 
some  ate  lunches.  There  was  odor  of  unwashed 
clothes  mixed  with  odor  of  sour  milk.  Double 
seats,  leather  padded,  had  been  pushed  together 

[10] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

into  berths,  while  overhead  shelves  had  been 
let  down  for  upper  berths,  with  thin  pads  of 
mattress  for  the  colonists  to  find  rest  upon. 
The  aisles  were  littered  with  paper,  fruit  rem- 
nants, broken  cigarette  stubs,  empty  bottles, 
and  expectoration.  The  air  was  vapid,  like  a 
drunkard's  breath.  I  waded  through  it  all  to 
the  lower  end  of  the  car  where  there  seemed 
to  be  an  oasis  of  cleanliness  and  order.  Here, 
though,  were  men  sprawled  out  in  unpoetic 
postures  of  sleep.  At  the  lowest  end,  even  the 
train  boy  had  left  his  basket  of  fruit  and  soda 
on  one  side,  while  he  lay  for  the  night,  crumpled 
up,  snorting  like  a  pig. 

I  looked  around  and  up  for  a  place  to  sleep. 
There  on  one  of  the  high  shelves,  I  saw  a  young 
fellow  sitting  up,  eating  a  sandwich.  He  saw 
me  looking  in  his  direction.  "Hello,  fellow," 
he  greeted  cheerily,  "you're  English,  aren't 
you,  fellow?"  I  replied  that  I  was  and  that 
I  was  wanting  a  place  to  sleep  for  the  night. 
He  said,  "These  places  are  for  two.  Get  a 
leg  up  and  bunk  with  me."  He  reached  down 
his  hand,  braced  me  as  I  stood  on  the  edge  of  a 
lower  berth,  and  then  I  found  myself  in  the  bed 
with  my  benefactor. 

He  sat  there  in  his  shirt,  ready  for  bed,  with 
a  large  basket  of  sandwiches  in  front  of  him. 
There  were  more  sandwiches  together  in  that 
one  basket  than  I  have  ever  seen  piled  up  on 
the  counter  of  any  lunch  room. 

[11] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"You  aren't  a  train  boy,  are  you?"  I  asked. 
"Oh,  no,"  said  the  young  fellow,  "that's  my 
lunch.  I  got  a  week's  go  on  the  trains  yet,  so 
I  brought  enough  to  eat  for  that  time.  I'm 
going  to  college  away  out  West.  Have  one," 
he  broke  in  and  pointed  to  the  basket.  I  had 
no  scruples  in  assisting  at  the  reduction  of 
such  a  mountain  of  sandwiches,  for  I  imagined 
that  a  company  of  soldiers  could  have  subsisted 
on  them  for  three  days.  I  ate  my  fill,  and  the 
young  fellow  watched  me  with  evident  delight. 
"I'm  going  out  to  college,  too,"  I  explained. 
"We're  birds  of  a  feather,  eh?"  "What  col- 
lege?" he  asked.  "Evangelical  University,"  I 
replied.  "It's  easy  to  get  through  there  be- 
cause expenses  are  moderate.  I  don't  think 
I'll  have  a  chance  to  get  in  right  away,"  I 
explained.  'You  see,  I  haven't  written  them 
that  I'm  coming  or  asked  for  a  chance  even.  I 
can  get  out  there  and  get  some  kind  of  work, 
and  when  everything's  arranged,  get  into  the 
University.  A  friend  told  me  about  it." 

"Why  didn't  you  go  back  with  some  one?" 
asked  my  friend.  "Well,  you  see,"  I  answered, 
"I  couldn't  afford  to  go  the  way  the  others  go. 
It  costs  twenty-four  dollars  and  this  route 
only  costs  me  fifteen  dollars  and  sixty-five 
cents."  "Oh,"  said  the  young  fellow.  "When 
you  do  enter  the  University  what  class  will 
you  join?"  "I'll  have  to  join  the  beginners 
with  common  school  branches,"  I  said.  "Then 

[12] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

I'll  work  up  into  the  Academic  course  to  pre- 
pare for  college,  then  go  through  college,  you 
see."  "Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  "I  see."  He  then 
asked  me  to  help  myself  to  another  sandwich. 
"You've  got  nerve,  anyway,"  he  commented. 
"It'll  be  a  long  pull,  won't  it,  to  do  what  you 
plan?  How  old  are  you?"  "Oh,  around 
twenty,"  I  answered.  "I  wish,  for  your  sake," 
said  the  young  man,  "  that  you  were  through 
with  it;  this  education  business  takes  a  lot 
out  of  a  fellow.  It's  a  fight  right  from  the 
start  if  you  don't  have  any  money.  I'm  a 
sophomore  in  college.  By  the  way,  you  haven't 
told  me  your  name,  fellow.  Mine's  Harlan 
M.  N.  I.  Droughtwell.  Plenty  of  initials  be- 
cause my  folks  wanted  to  please  both  branches 
of  the  family.  In  full,  I  am  Harlan  Micknell 
Norman  Ingraham  Droughtwell."  "And  I," 
I  replied,  "am  just  Al  Priddy.  No  middle 
name.  I  suppose,  though,  that  really  I  am 
Albert,  but  it  ain't  used  much." 

Harlan  put  the  basket  aside,  after  having  put 
over  the  bread  a  damp  towel  and  closed  the 
cover.  Then  he  told  me  to  turn  in  near  him. 
So  we  both  gave  ourselves  into  the  keeping  of 
the  engineer  and  slept  profoundly  above  the 
odors,  the  litter,  the  droning  aliens :  —  two 
youths  college  bound. 

I  was  first  up,  in  the  morning.  Harlan,  on 
opening  his  eyes,  proposed  that  I  "dive  in" 
and  he  pointed  to  the  sandwiches.  First  of 

[13] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

all  I  wanted  to  wash  my  face.  I  did  so  at  the 
drinking  tank.  I  looked  around.  There  was 
a  stirring  among  the  aliens;  just  a  stirring. 
Some  were  turning  over,  yawning  and  giving 
guttural  explosions  of  sleepy  comment. 
Mothers  were  feeding  hungry,  lively  babies; 
but  at  my  end  everything  was  profoundly  still. 
The  train  boy's  basket  was  still  where  I 
had  seen  it  the  night  before  with  the  fruit 
exposed  to  the  air.  The  boy  himself  was  a 
tousled,  sleepy,  uninspiring  bundle  of  blue  and 
white.  I  looked  at  my  berth-mate,  the  sand- 
wich man,  and  noted  that  he  combed  his  hair 
from  the  side.  Immediately  I  was  conscious 
that  I  combed  mine  down  the  middle,  and  I 
recollected  that  my  aunt  Millie  had  always  said 
that  I  looked  like  a  masher  with  it  in  that  way. 
So  I  took  out  my  pocket  comb  and  changed 
the  style  of  my  hair-dressing,  while  Harlan, 
entirely  unconscious  of  having  wielded  so  power- 
ful an  influence  over  a  fellow,  sat  in  his  berth 
and  struggled  with  his  clothes. 

All  through  the  morning  we  traveled;  over 
high  trestles,  through  deep  cuts,  skirting  tobacco 
fields,  whirling  through  little  settlements  until 
at  last  we  were  rolled  to  the  deck  of  a  massive 
iron  ferry  and,  still  in  the  cars,  were  taken  across 
the  lake  and  landed  at  Detroit.  Meanwhile, 
I  had  parted  company  with  Harlan,  who  had 
told  me  to  "keep  right  at  it,"  meaning  thereby, 
a  college  education. 

[14] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

Transfer  after  transfer  was  made  for  another 
night  and  a  day,  each  time  the  trains  seemed 
to  get  slower,  to  stop  more  at  stations,  while 
the  cities  grew  less  frequent.  Friday  turned 
into  Saturday,  Saturday  into  Sunday,  and  by 
Sunday,  too,  we  plunged  into  an  overpowering 
odor  of  gas.  "Is  the  lamp  leaking?"  I  asked 
the  trainman  mournfully.  "It's  terrible.  It 
must  be  leaking.  It  makes  me  seasick."  The 
man  laughed.  "Oh,  you're  in  the  gas  belt,"  he 
said.  "It's  in  the  air.  You  will  get  used  to  it. 
I  can't  smell  it  at  all,  though  at  first  it  smells 
like  being  right  in  a  gas  house,  doesn't  it?" 

The  gas  tinged  everything;  food  and  drink. 
I  felt  like  going  to  sleep  to  lose  the  sense  of  it. 
But  deeper  and  deeper  into  it  the  train  plunged, 
without  mercy.  "If  you've  got  a  piece  of  sil- 
ver about  you,"  said  the  trainman,  "a  watch 
chain  or  anything  of  gold  or  silver,  this  air  will 
turn  it  black  soon  enough.  But  you'll  get 
used  to  it,"  he  added  comfortingly  enough. 
"I  shall  have  to,"  I  complained,  gloomily. 
"It  tastes  as  if  all  the  gas  works  in  the  world 
had  exploded  about  here." 

Finally  I  was  nearing  Groat's  Crossing,  the 
seat  of  Evangelical  University.  The  train  de- 
posited me  at  a  station  within  twelve  miles  of  it, 
where  I  should  have  to  take  an  accommodation 
four  hours  later.  There  was  nothing  to  see  in 
the  place  where  I  waited,  but  glaring  brick 
buildings  and  houses  on  stilts.  So  I  waited 

[15] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

around  the  hot,  splintered  platform,  seated  now 
on  a  truck,  watching  a  group  of  young  men 
reading  sections  of  a  Sunday  paper,  or  walking 
miserably  up  and  down  wishing  for  the  train,  for 
the  gas  had  gotten  into  my  system,  and  I  felt 
lonesome,  miserable.  I  might  have  gone  to 
sleep  in  the  waiting  room,  but  the  seats  were 
spoiled  for  beds  by  having  iron  arm  rests  at 
intervals  of  two  feet.  I  tried  to  thread  myself 
through  these,  at  full  length,  but  could  not. 
There  was  nothing  to  do,  but  stand  around 
and  taste  gas,  until  the  Groat's  Crossing  train 
came. 

With  great  joy  I  watched  the  accommoda- 
tion come  into  the  station.  Only  twelve  more 
miles  between  me  and  Evangelical  University! 
The  end  of  three  days'  travel.  Three  days  from 
the  cotton  mills!  In  that  thought  I  renewed 
my  spirit.  Soon  I  should  at  least  be  NEAR  a 
college ! 

College!  For  me!  It  was  the  anticipation 
of  a  first  watch  twenty  times  intensified.  I,  go 
to  college!  Look  back  in  the  genealogies  of 
the  Priddys,  rooted  back  in  Britain's  centuries, 
and  lay  your  finger  on  a  single  member  of  it 
who  ever  went  beyond  the  secondary  school! 
And  there  was  the  brakeman  calling,  inconse- 
quently,  "Groat's  Crossing!" 

I  half  stumbled  from  that  car,  thanking  God 
that  He  had  allowed  me  this  sweet  day.  Here 
I  was  on  the  platform  at  last.  There  was  no 

[16] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

one  about.  A  Sabbath  quiet  lingered  over 
everything.  The  black  splinters  on  the  plat- 
form went  like  knife  blades  between  the  soles 
of  my  worn  shoes. 

Groat's  was  a  very  small  station.  Some  sort 
of  a  village  lay  behind  it.  I  asked  a  man  on 
the  street  corner  if  this  was  where  Evangelical 
University  could  be  found.  He  pointed  away 
from  the  village  in  the  direction  of  a  rutted, 
clay  road  bordered  by  a  line  of  houses  on  stilts 
which  ended  in  a  pasture  fence  made  from  dry 
stumps  interlocked.  "The  place's  up  thar!" 
mumbled  the  man  as  he  moved  the  morsel  of 
tobacco  from  one  cheek  to  the  other.  "You'll 
run  smack  inter  it  ef  yo'  keeps  ergoin'."  "How 
far  about?"  I  asked.  "Uh,  'bout  a  mile  or 
mo ',  I  guess." 

The  fumes  of  gas  half  choked  me.  They 
drowned  out  the  perfumes  from  decaying  leaves 
which  lay  thick  on  the  streets.  It  was  a  land 
given  over  to  gas,  evidently,  for  instead  of 
cows  grazing  in  the  flat  pastures,  latticed  der- 
ricks towered  over  oil  and  gas  wells.  In  place 
of  the  twitter  of  Fall  songsters  reaching  me  from 
the  trees  along  the  roadside,  came  the  mourn- 
ful creaking  of  oil  pumps  and  the  gasps  and  barks 
from  the  sputtering  engines.  A  well  had  just 
been  shot.  A  crowd  of  spectators  stood  at  the 
base  of  a  derrick  whose  latticework  glistened 
with  the  black  baptism  of  oil,  and  the  dead 
grass  on  which  the  spectators  stood  was  soaked 

[17] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

by  a  tarry  iridescence;  the  thick,  black,  greasy 
mess  which  had  spouted  up  from  the  torn  heart 
of  the  underworld. 

I  walked  along  a  board  walk  which  gave  me 
a  level  path  over  little  brooks,  open  culverts, 
house  drains,  and  masses  of  surface  gas  mains. 
It  took  me  up  a  slight  grade  in  a  lonesome 
part  of  the  road  where  were  neither  houses  nor 
trees.  I  stood  on  the  crest  of  the  hill  looking 
ahead  for  the  University.  It  stood  on  the  open 
plain  ahead  of  me,  in  full  sight,  Evangelical 
University ! 

I  had  never  seen  a  college  before.  I  had 
feasted  my  imagination  on  photographs  of  the 
world's  leading  universities :  Cambridge,  Oxford, 
Edinburgh,  and  Harvard.  I  had  revelled  in 
the  Tom  Brown  type  of  literature  which  has  for 
its  background  armorial  gateways,  ivy-clothed 
turrets  in  which  sparrows  twitter  all  the  day; 
which  showed  myriads  of  mullioned  windows 
peeping  shyly  through  the  branches  of  sedate, 
century  oaks;  which  showed  grassy -carpeted 
lawns,  yew  gardens,  swans  breasting  placid, 
rose-fringed  lakes,  lakes  girded  by  pebbled  paths 
whereon  walked  pale,  lanky  scholars  in  board 
caps  and  mourning  gowns,  walking  with  bulky 
tomes  of  Latin  on  their  palms  in  serene  medi- 
tation ! 

And  there  the  reality  of  a  college,  Evangel- 
ical University,  spread  itself  for  my  contem- 
plation, a  heart-choked  contemplation,  because 

[18] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

that  view  shattered  a  lifetime's  romance!  It 
brought  to  mind  a  group  of  tenements  surround- 
ing a  big  square,  brick  grammar  school.  The 
buildings  stood  open  to  the  glare  of  the  sun, 
for  there  were  no  tall  trees  for  shade.  The 
smaller  houses,  little  cheaply  constructed  cot- 
tages, stood  on  cedar  posts  and  were  so  fragile 
that  the  first  tempest  might  readily  twist  them 
from  their  anchorages  and  carry  them  tumbling 
down  the  fields  like  empty  hat-boxes. 

After  the  armorial-gatewayed  universities  of 
my  dreams  had  completely  melted  away,  and 
the  reality  in  its  Puritan,  pioneer  severity  chal- 
lenged me,  I  took  a  firm  hold  on  my  slate-col- 
ored baggage  and  strode  rapidly  on  towards  my 
goal. 

"What  do  you  want  for  ninety  dollars  a 
year?"  I  argued  with  myself.  "It's  your 
chance,  and  that's  enough." 

I  soon  came  to  a  newly  plowed  road  which 
led  to  the  first  of  the  university  buildings.  The 
hot  sun  had  not  been  thirsty  enough  to  suck 
all  the  rain  which  had  fallen  on  the  new  road  in 
the  last  storm.  The  clayey  earth  had  mixed 
with  it  and  formed  a  broth  which  waited  for 
the  first  unwary  foot  to  slip  from  the  springy 
board  walk,  which  led  over  it. 

Directly  ahead,  I  saw  a  salmon-colored,  clap- 
boarded  building  squat  and  frail  like  an  evan- 
gelist's tabernacle,  over  which  I  read  on  a  sign 
the  following  explanatory  inscription: 

[19] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"CHIEF  PUNGO  HALL,  1889. 
BORN  IN  AFRICA.     DIED  HERE  1885." 

With  but  a  mere  glance  at  this  Memorial 
Dormitory,  I  had  need  next  to  press  my  teeth 
over  my  under  lip,  stiffen  my  gait,  bulge  out  my 
chest,  and  perform  all  the  other  affectations  of 
courage,  for  in  front  of  Pungo  Hall  stood  a 
group  of  well-dressed  young  men,  all  looking  at 
me!  The  heart  of  the  horseman  who  dashed 
in  the  charge  of  the  Six  Hundred  was  a  stouter 
one  in  feeling  than  mine  when  I  charged  on  those 
lolling  young  men.  My  knee-caps  vibrated 
like  a  cello  string.  My  finger  nerves  leaped  one 
over  the  other.  My  heart  pumped  double  quan- 
tity of  blood  to  my  cheeks.  The  board  walk 
dropped  from  under  my  shoes  and  I  walked  on 
a  tipping  cloud. 

One  of  the  students,  in  response  to  my  wait- 
ing and  my  embarrassment,  which  must  have 
been  as  clear  to  him  as  an  electric  advertise- 
ment over  a  skyscraper,  advanced  and  asked  if 
he  could  be  of  any  service  to  me,  saying  that  his 
name  was  Thropper,  James  Thropper. 

Now,  during  the  long,  three  days'  journey,  I 
had  spent  much  thought  in  preparation  of  the 
introduction  of  myself  to  the  University  upon 
arrival.  I  had  succeeded  in  framing  an  intro- 
duction which  had  both  the  qualities  of  com- 
pleteness and  brevity.  I  had  rehearsed  it, 
mentally,  in  many  hypothetical  contingencies, 

[20] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

so  that  I  might  let  them  see  that  I  knew,  defi- 
nitely, what  I  had  come  for.  But  among  all  the 
contingencies  I  had  invented  not  one  of  them 
had  resembled  the  one  in  which  I  found  my- 
self: making  my  business  known  to  a  student. 
I  had  thought  of  meeting  with  a  gowned  don 
or  a  "bursar"  —  whatever  he  was  —  because 
I  was  saturated  with  Tom  Brown.  But  I 
managed  to  explode  my  introduction  to  the 
student,  with  all  its  brevity,  in  all  its  boyish 
completeness. 

"My  name  is  Al  Priddy.  I  have  come  from 
the  mills.  I  have  not  been  to  school  beyond 
common  fractions.  I  am  nineteen  years  old. 
I  am  willing  to  learn.  I  heard  of  this  place 
from  a  friend.  He  said  there  was  a  ,  chance. 
I  have  only  three  dollars.  I  am  willing  to 
work.  If  you  think  I  can't  be  taken  in,  right 
off,  I  shall  be  happy  to  live  near  here,  so  that 
when  I  have  earned  more  money  I  can  begin!" 

James  Thropper  picked  up  my  slate-colored 
suit  case  and  led  me  before  the  group  of  stu- 
dents, without  comment.  Then,  after  he  had 
introduced  me  to  them  all,  as  "Brother  Priddy," 
he  signalled  to  a  tall,  moustached  German. 
"Come  here,  Brock."  The  German  came  to 
one  side,  and  Thropper  repeated,  though  not 
so  completely  nor  with  equal  brevity,  the  tale 
I  had  unfolded. 

:<  You've  come  to  just  the  right  place,  Brother 
Priddy,"  said  Brock.  "We  have  plenty  of 

[21] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

students  here  who  arrive  without  much  money 
or  much  education.  It's  a  splendid  place  for 
getting  a  start,  isn't  it,  Brother  Thropper?" 

Thropper  said,  "It's  been  a  blessing  to  many 
a  struggler." 

"But  is  there  room?"  I  asked.  "I  could 
wait.  It  will  be  nice  to  live  so  near  a  college 
and  join  it  —  later,"  I  tremblingly  ventured. 
"I  didn't  come  with  the  expectation  of  begin- 
ning studies  right  off,  I  thought  I  might  go  to 
work  in  the  glass  factory  a  while  and  then 
when  I'd— " 

"That  would  be  a  waste  of  time,"  said  Brock. 
"I  think  you'll  be  able  to  start  right  away." 

"Excuse  me  —  are  —  are  you  a  professor  — 
sir?"  I  enquired. 

"No,"  laughed  Brock,  "just  a  theologue, 
that's  all.  I  started  late,  you  see."  Then  he 
explained:  "You'll  not  be  able  to  do  any  busi- 
ness here  on  Sunday.  The  President  will  see 
you  the  first  thing  in  the  morning;  but  you 
needn't  fear.  There's  no  turning  of  you  off 
when  you've  come  so  far.  Just  remember  that, 
Brother  Priddy.  Meanwhile,  I  think  I  might 
be  able  to  place  you  at  a  job  that  will  pay  your 
board." 

With  a  wild  leap  of  the  heart,  I  gasped, 
thrilled, 

"Oh,  if  you  only  could!" 

"I'm  head  waiter  in  the  dining  room,"  he 
explained,  "we  have  a  place  not  filled  yet. 

[22] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

I'll  see  you  later  about  it.  Better  take  him 
in  with  you,"  he  announced,  turning  to  Throp- 
per.  "Yours  is  a  double  room.  That's  where 
the  President  would  put  him,  anyhow." 

"My,  the  gas  does  smell!"  I  announced, 
merely  to  say  something  as  Thropper  led  me 
into  the  dimness  of  Pungo  Hall.  "Doesn't  it 
spoil  the  food,  when  it  soaks  in  it?" 

Thropper  laughed. 

"You  won't  mind  it,  after  a  while.  You'll 
get  so  that  you  won't  notice  it.  Here's  the 
room,  '9'.  Come  in,  Priddy!" 

I  heard  the  scraping  of  a  key  against  the 
lock,  a  frosty  light  overhead  showed  me  where 
the  transom  was  swung  at  an  angle.  Finally 
there  came  a  click  as  the  key  snapped  back  the 
bolt,  Thropper  threw  back  the  door  and  ushered 
me  in  my  college  room,  a  double  room  within 
a  narrow  compass  of  a  few  feet  something.  I 
swept  a  pair  of  greedy  eyes  over  this,  the  first 
substantial  step  in  my  educational  ambition. 


[23] 


Chapter  II.  I  Help  a  Real 
Poet  to  Sing  his  Hymn.  My 
First  Chance  and  How  I  Succeeded 
with  it 


A"    •     *f  HE  double  bed  had  two  depressions 

plainly     visible    on    the    mattress 

where  two  previous  occupants  had 

maintained  their  respective  sleeping 

rights.     The  double  quilt,  patterned 

after  a  gaudy   Chinese  puzzle,  sank  into  the 

depressions  of  its  own,  warm  weight. 

"The  best  thing  about  that  quilt,"  explained 
Thropper,  "is  that  when  my  eyes  get  weary 
with  study  or  tired  from  writing,  I  look  at  the 
combinations  of  colors,  and  my  eyes  are  rested. 
It's  great  for  that.  By  the  way,  I'll  call  you 
Al  if  you'll  call  me  Jim,"  he  suggested. 

That  bed  occupied  the  major  portion  of  the 
floor.  Its  edge  left  just  a  narrow  alley  between 
it  and  two  kitchen  tables  that  were  covered 
with  black  oilcloth.  One  of  the  tables  —  far- 
thest from  the  window,  in  the  dim  light,  —  was 
bare  of  books,  and  Jim  said  that  it  would  be 

[24] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

mine.  The  other  had  about  a  dozen  text  books 
on  it,  some  scraps  of  paper,  and  an  open  Bible, 
marked  with  purple  and  red  ink  where  Jim 
told  me  he  was  busy  emphasizing  all  the  texts 
that  he  might  preach  sermons  from  —  some 
day. 

The  chair  allotted  me  was  a  plain  kitchen 
affair,  as  hard  as  a  tombstone;  but  Jim's  was 
fearfully  and  wonderfully  stuffed.  There  it 
stood  like  a  parody  on  a  fluffy  Morris,  library 
chair.  It  was  a  kitchen  chair  grotesquely 
stuffed  and  upholstered  within  a  faded,  torn, 
and  highly  colored  bed  comforter.  When  Jim 
noted  that  I  took  an  interest  in  it,  he  said, 

"Padding  made  quite  a  difference  in  that 
chair,  Al.  It's  real  comfortable,  though  there 
isn't  much  seat  left;  it's  so  thickly  padded.  I 
was  out  in  the  fields  one  day,  and  near  the  fence 
I  picked  up  a  sheep's  skin  of  thick  wool.  I 
thought  then  that  I  could  make  good  use  of  it, 
so  I  brought  it  back,  left  it  on  the  clothes-line 
at  the  back  of  the  building  to  let  the  air  sweeten 
it,  for  it  was  pretty  strong;  then  I  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  I  could  use  it  to  stuff  the  chair 
—  real  wool,  you  know.  The  comforter  was 
left  in  the  back  room  by  a  fellow  and  I  used 
that,  too.  It's  a  real  comfortable  chair;  almost 
makes  you  fall  asleep  when  you  sit  in  it." 

"You  didn't  manage  to  sweeten  all  of  the 
wool,  did  you,  Jim?"  I  asked  dubiously  as  I 
noted  the  dank  odor  that  came  from  the  chair; 

[25] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

an  odor  that  was  reminiscent  of  a  junk  shop 
after  a  rain. 

"Why,"  replied  Jim,  in  good  humor,  "I 
don't  notice  it  a  bit.  I  think  it  must  be  your 
imagination." 

"Well,"  I  concluded,  ungraciously,  "prob- 
ably it's  like  the  gas.  You've  got  used  to 
it." 

Between  the  gas  stove  and  the  wash  stand 
stood  a  galvanized  water  pail,  three-quarters 
filled  and  with  a  fuzzy  growth  on  its  oily  sur- 
face. 

"That  ain't  drinking  water,  is  it?"  I  asked  in 
alarm. 

"No,"  laughed  Jim.  "That's  in  case  of  fire. 
I  ought  to  have  changed  that  water  two  weeks 
ago,  but  I  guess  I'm  getting  lazy." 

By  this  time  I  had  my  coat  off  and  had  ac- 
cepted Jim's  invitation  to  wash  the  train  dust 
off  my  face. 

For  this  purpose  I  scraped  around  in  the 
soap  dish  until  I  had  secured  two  thin  wafers 
of  soap,  one  a  transparent  reminder  of  per- 
fumed toilet  soap,  the  other  a  dull  yellow, 
and  odorous  with  naphtha,  which  I  recognized 
as  the  remnant  of  a  powerful  disinfecting  and 
wash-day  soap;  used  by  my  Aunt  to  drive 
black  oil  from  overalls.  I  had  to  rub  these 
two  antagonistic  wafers  together  to  make  suf- 
ficient lather  for  washing.  Then,  too,  I  had  to 
hurry  my  toilet,  for  the  flowered  wash  bowl 

[26] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

had  a  yellow  crack  on  its  under  side,  through 
which  the  water  dripped  rapidly  while  I  washed. 

Jim  said, 

"Until  you  get  some,  Al,  you  must  use  my 
towel."  He  took  it  down  from  the  wire  behind 
the  stove  and  let  me  have  it,  with  the  remark: 

"There's  a  dry  corner,  there  near  the  fringe." 

The  window  was  open,  and  while  I  was  busy 
brushing  the  dust  from  my  clothes,  a  gust  of 
wind  came  in  and  I  heard  a  rip  on  the  wall 
followed  by  an  exclamation  from  Jim, 

"There  it  goes  again!  The  wall  will  be  going 
next!" 

On  examination  I  found  that  the  wall  paper, 
with  its  highly  conventionalized  lotus  leaves, 
had  lost  its  grip  on  the  wall  behind  the  gas 
stove  and  had  uncovered  a  great  area  of  plas- 
tered wall.  Jim  produced  some  tacks,  and  using 
a  flat  iron  for  a  hammer  managed  to  return  the 
paper  to  its  place  and  to  keep  it  anchored  there 
through  a  liberal  use  of  tacks. 

He  apologized,  when  he  came  down  to  the 
floor, 

"All  this  is  miserable  enough,  Al,  and  I  don't 
blame  you  for  thinking  so." 

"Uh,"  I  retorted,  "I  ain't  grumbling.  Beg- 
gars can't  be  choosers.  Besides,  I  don't  see 
what  more  the  college  can  do  for  ninety  dollars 
a  year,  board,  room,  and  teaching." 

"* Tuition'  you  ought  to  say,"  corrected 
Jim.  "I'm  glad  you've  got  the  right  spirit 

[27] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

about  this  place,  Al.  You're  right,  we  can't 
expect  any  more  for  ninety  dollars!  I  don't 
see  how  they  can  do  for  us  what  they  can.  It's 
worth  a  mighty  lot  for  you  and  me  to  get  a 
chance,  and  if  education  should  cost  more, 
where  would  you  and  I  be?  " 

"That's  just  what  I  think!"  I  replied  with 
spirit.  "It  is  just  the  chance  we  want.  Here 
I  am,  with  only  three  dollars  to  begin  on  and  a 
poor  foundation  for  study  in  the  bargain.  What 
other  place  is  there  where  I  could  be  given  a 
start  on  such  easy  terms?" 

"A  lot  of  fellows  come  here,"  commented 
Jim,  "who  don't  look  at  the  matter  in  that 
way  —  and  they  soon  leave  and  don't  have 
any  chance  at  all.  I  know  you'll  appreciate 
the  hard  scrabble  to  get  the  education.  Be- 
sides, poor  buildings,  poverty-stricken  rooms, 
cheap  board,  and  limited  privileges  ought  to 
make  us  get  the  most  out  of  our  studies.  That's 
something." 

"But  suppose  they  don't  let  me  begin?"  I 
gasped;  for  up  to  this  time  I  had  not  let  a  doubt 
of  my  acceptance  at  Evangelical  University 
mar  the  afternoon. 

"I  don't  think  they'll  let  a  fellow  like  you 
go  begging,  Al,"  responded  Jim.  :'You  might 
as  well  count  yourself  one  of  us,  right  off." 

Just  then,  out  in  the  upper  end  of  the  cor- 
ridor, went  up  a  high,  lisping,  effeminate  voice, 
calling, 

[28] 


"Oh,  Brother  Thropper;  Brother  Thropper!" 
Jim  went  to  the  door  and  replied, 
"All  right,  Jason!"    Then  he  turned  to  me 
and  whispered, 

"Hardwick  is  one  of  the  smartest  fellows  in 
the  University.  He's  a  poet,  too.  He's  got  a 
hymn  set  to  music  in  this  book,"  and  he  waved 
a  much  worn,  manila  paper  covered  Gospel 
hymn  book.  "It's  very  popular;  sung  in  many 
of  the  big  revivals!" 

With  a  throb  of  excitement  I  waited  for  the 
advent  of  this  real  poet.  I  had  seen  men  who 
had  called  themselves  poets  in  the  mill;  but 
their  productions  were  local  in  theme,  personal 
in  lines,  unpoetic  in  metre  and  never  reached  a 
further  fame  than  insertion  in  the  "Original 
Line"  column  of  the  papers.  But  I  was  now 
to  view  a  real  poet;  one  whose  words  were  sung 
in  churches.  I  was  thoroughly  subdued  when 
I  heard  the  poet's  fingers  searching  for  the 
knob,  outside. 

He  was  all  that  the  comic  papers  and  the 
actors  suggest  for  poets.  There  was  not  a  bit 
of  the  world  about  his  aspect.  In  reaching 
for  the  dwelling  places  of  the  muses  he  had 
lengthened  out  until  his  head,  covered  with  a 
thick  cluster  of  curls,  roamed  through  the 
higher  levels  of  the  atmosphere.  He  had  to 
incline  his  head  in  order  to  get  through  the 
doorway.  His  face  had  a  poetic  paleness  and 
his  lips  were  puffed  out  as  if  he  were  on  the  verge 

[29] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

of  inspired  speech.  He  wore  a  clerical  vest 
and  all  his  clothes  were  of  a  very  spiritual  black. 
He  carried  a  mandolin. 

I  was  formally  introduced  and  on  my  part,  in 
acknowledging  the  introduction,  I  agreed  that 
I  was  "right  glad  to  know"  Mr.  Hardwick. 

The  poet  had  come  to  rehearse  some  hymns 
with  Jim.  The  latter  produced  his  guitar; 
both  musicians  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  be- 
fore a  nickel-plated  music  stand,  the  Gospel 
hymn  book  was  put  in  place,  and  to  the  strum- 
ming of  the  instruments,  the  vocalists  sang  some 
revival  hymns  with  such  effect  as  to  produce 
from  me  the  comment,  "My,  that  sounds  fine!" 

Then,  growing  bold  through  intimacy,  I  said, 

"I  wonder,  Mr.  Hardwick,  if  you  will  sing 
that  song  you  wrote,  please?" 

The  poet  said  that  he  would  be  pleased  to 
sing  it  as  a  trio,  and  asked  me,  when  he  had 
found  the  place,  if  I  could  join  in  with  the  bass. 
I  thought  I  could. 

So  the  three  of  us,  I  between  the  two  musi- 
cians, sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  sang  the 
lilting  reiterations  of  the  hymn, 

"There's  a  welcome  home, 
There's  a  welcome  home, 
There's  a  welcome  home, 
For  you  and  me." 

We  were  interrupted  by  the  ringing  of  a  bell, 
on  the  University  tower,  which,  I  learned,  was 
the  call  to  the  Sunday  afternoon  preaching 

[30] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

service.  As  my  roommate  was  trying  to  urge 
me  to  attend,  and  while  I  was  protesting  that 
my  clothes  were  not  good  enough,  the  head 
waiter  came  into  the  room  and  said, 

"Priddy,  I'm  going  to  give  you  a  try  as  a 
waiter  at  supper.  Don't  go  to  the  preaching 
service.  I  will  try  to  rig  you  up  with  an  apron 
and  jacket." 

Oh,  what  inspiration  those  words  had  in 
them!  It  meant  that  the  University  was  al- 
ready willing  to  give  me  a  chance  to  show  what 
I  could  do.  I  should  not  have  to  get  work  in 
the  glass  factory.  I  should  not  have  to  wait 
before  I  could  enroll  myself  in  the  University. 
My  chance  had  come.  I  cried  for  joy;  tears 
of  which  I  was  not  ashamed,  even  though  Brock, 
the  head  waiter,  saw  them. 

"I'm  only  poor,  and  a  big  blunderer,  with- 
out any  manners,"  I  protested,  "but  if  you 
give  me  a  chance,  I'll  do  my  utmost." 

At  five  o'clock  Brock  came  into  the  room  car- 
rying on  his  arm  a  well-starched  waiter's  jacket 
and  a  patched  white  apron. 

"I  had  these  on  the  side,"  he  announced. 
"They  are  worth  forty  cents.  You  may  pay 
for  them  when  you  are  able.  Don't  be  worry- 
ing about  the  matter.  Be  over  at  the  dining 
room  at  quarter  past  five." 

After  that  I  moved  as  if  in  the  midst  of  a 
grand  dream.  Was  I  actually  in  a  dormitory, 
at  a  college?  Was  it  true  that  in  a  quarter  of 

[31] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

an  hour  I  should  be  trying  to  wait  on  a  group 
of  real  students? 

The  dining  hall  was  a  squat  wooden  bunga- 
low with  a  great  many  windows  in  it.  The 
front  hall  floor  bent  under  my  weight  as  I 
crossed  it.  I  unlatched  one  of  the  double  doors 
and  viewed  the  roomful  of  tables  with  the  dull 
reflector  lamps  hanging  above  them.  White 
jacketed  students  were  busy  with  plates  and 
plated  silver  cutlery.  Brock,  himself  in  glori- 
ous white,  came  down  the  room  with  a  word  of 
greeting.  I  was  introduced  to  the  student- 
waiters,  was  told  that  I  was  on  trial  only,  and 
that  I  should  be  carefully  watched,  as  there 
were  many  trained  waiters  among  the  students 
who  coveted  the  position.  Brock  indicated 
two  tables  near  the  door,  the  farthest  away  from 
the  kitchen  of  all  the  tables. 

"You  will  wait  on  them,"  he  said.  "There 
will  be  ten  to  a  table.  When  they  come  in, 
before  the  blessing,  they  will  stand  behind  their 
chairs.  You  must  go  around,  find  out  what 
they  want  to  drink;  hot  water,  tea  or  cold  water, 
then  you  must  go  to  the  other  end  of  the  room, 
get  one  of  the  trays  and  fill  it  with  twenty  cups. 
Then  you  must  get  them  served  just  as  soon 
as  you  can.  You  will  find  plenty  of  chores  to 
do  when  they  are  seated." 

With  a  wild,  thumping  heart,  and  with  a 
maximum  of  terror,  I  heard  the  first  of  the 
students  enter  the  outer  hall.  Brock  stood  at 

[32] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

the  opposite  end  of  the  room,  near  the  slides 
that  connected  with  the  kitchen,  his  finger  on 
a  Sunday  school  bell.  The  students,  well- 
dressed  young  men  and  women,  swept  past  me, 
crowded  me,  stared  at  me,  stood  at  my  tables; 
went  to  the  different  parts  of  the  room  chatter- 
ing, bantering,  laughing,  and  accosting  one  an- 
other familiarly  with  such  abandon  and  effect 
that  I  felt  like  an  intruder.  No  one  spoke  to 
me.  The  young  men  and  women  at  my  two 
tables  commented  about  something  in  a  low 
murmur.  They  cast  doubting  looks  toward  me. 
For  a  minute  I  was  in  a  panic,  then,  because 
I  was  tall,  I  could  see  Brock's  eyes  telling  me 
to  do  something.  I  went  through  the  crowded 
aisles,  around  my  tables,  saying  to  each  per- 
son, in  a  trembling,  very  English  way, 

"Will  you  'ave  'ot,  cold  water,  or  tea,  please?" 
I  received  eighteen  orders  for  hot  water  and 
tea  and  two  orders  for  cold  water.  I  came  out 
from  the  ordeal  of  having  addressed  so  many 
students  and  went  perspiring  to  the  upper  end 
of  the  room  where  the  urns  and  trays  were. 
I  put  the  weighty  cups  and  the  thick  glasses 
on  a  tray  the  size  of  an  ordinary  five  o'clock  tea 
table,  filled  them  by  twisting  the  tray  under 
the  spigots  of  the  urns,  and  with  the  weighty 
load  raised  as  high  as  my  long  arms  could  exalt 
it,  pushed  my  way  nervously  down  the  aisle, 
past  the  students  whose  backs  were  turned  to 
me,  and  conscious  that  all  the  inquisitive  and 

[331 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

critical  eyes  in  the  world  were  watching  me  to 
see  how  I  should  manage.  I  was  very  fortunate 
in  being  able  to  squirm  my  way  to  the  lower  end 
of  the  room  and  to  reach  the  vicinity  of  my  own 
tables  without  accident.  It  helped  me,  too, 
to  hear  the  students  singing  a  hymn.  It  took 
their  minds  off  me,  the  green  mill  boy  trying 
to  wait  on  college  tables!  Thus  encouraged, 
I  tried  a  bold  thing,  which  I  saw  the  other  wait- 
ers doing.  As  there  were  no  stand  tables  to 
rest  our  trays  upon,  while  steadying  mine 
against  my  body  as  it  lay  on  the  palm  of  my 
hand,  I  took  off  a  cup  of  hot  water  from  the 
lowered  tray,  and  tried  to  reach  the  cup  around 
the  waist  of  the  young  woman  who  had  called 
for  hot  water.  The  balance  would  have  been 
maintained  had  not  the  person  next  to  me  sud- 
denly drawn  back,  jolted  the  tray  from  my 
hand,  and  sent  the  hot  liquids  streaming  down 
the  skirts  and  shoes  of  those  in  the  vicinity. 
There  followed,  too,  the  crash  and  thump  as 
the  heavy  cups  clattered  to  the  floor.  The 
two  glasses  splintered  into  bits,  and  while  the 
students  were  sitting  down,  I  found  myself 
growing  more  and  more  conspicuous  until  the 
seated  throng  looked  up  from  every  part  of  the 
room,  to  see  me  furiously  red,  with  tears  gather- 
ing, and  with  untold  chagrin  over  the  mishap. 

I  waited,  among  the  ruin,  for  Brock  to  come 
to  me,  get  me  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck,  hurl 
me  outside  to  say, 

[34] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"Get  back  to  the  mill.  What  right  have  you 
to  pretend  to  know  how  to  act  among  cultured 
people?  You're  too  green!" 

I  imagined,  too,  that  the  students  at  my  table 
must  be  delegating  one  of  their  number  to  go 
to  the  head  waiter  to  say, 

"We  don't  want  that  clumsy  person  bothering 
with  us.  He's  spoiled  a  couple  of  fine  dresses 
and  made  a  regular  bothersome  mess.  Throw 
him  out!  Send  him  back  to  where  he  came 
from!" 

But  I  had  mistaken  the  temper  of  Evangel- 
ical University.  Brock  came  down,  and  with 
great  kindness  patted  me  on  the  back  and  said, 
encouragingly, 

"Don't  let  a  thing  like  that  bother  you, 
Priddy.  I  know  how  they  crowd.  Cheer  up, 
old  fellow." 

Then  the  student  who  had  jolted  the  tray 
bent  back  and  said, 

"It  was  all  my  fault,  Brock.  He  wasn't  to 
blame  a  bit.  It  was  downright  careless  of  me. 
I'm  sorry." 

Then,  after  he  had  assisted  me  in  bringing 
the  hot  water  and  other  drinkables  to  the  tables, 
Brock  took  pains  to  introduce  me  to  the  twenty 
young  men  and  women,  saying, 

"Mr.  Priddy,  I  hope,  will  see  that  you  do 
not  go  hungry  as  much  as  you  might!" 

I  walked  on  air  after  that;  for  the  head  waiter 
had  called  me,  "Mr.  Priddy!" 

[35] 


Chapter  IIL  Thropper's  Puff 
Tie.  Sounds  That  Passed  in  the 
Night.  The  Possible  Advantages 
of  Speaking  Tubes.  The  Scroll  of 
Divine  History.  The  Medita- 
tions of  a  Saint.  How  Thropper 
Lost  his  Pious  Reputation 

SHORTLY  after  my  return  from  the 
dining  hall,  Thropper  thundered  into 
the  room,  in  his  impetuous  way,  jerked 
his  arms  out  of  his  coat,  tore  at  his 
collar  and  lifted  up  the  lid  of  his  tin  cov- 
ered trunk  with  every  evidence  of  excitement. 

"What's  the  matter  —  Jim?"  I  asked,  from 
my  seat  near  the  window. 

"Got  a  date  on,  that's  what,"  he  answered, 
half  smothered  in  his  trunk.  "Miss  Ebberd's 
going  —  church  —  with  me.  Lucky  —  duck, 
that's  what!  Going  down  the  board  walk  to 
—  New  Light  revival!  Say,"  he  interrupted, 
holding  up  for  my  inspection  a  black,  puff  tie, 

[36] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

with  an  opal  stone  nesting  in  the  midst  of  its 
folds,  "How  would  this  go  with  a  choker  col- 
lar, Priddy?" 

"Put  it  on  first,  Thropper,"  I  suggested. 

He  fastened  it  around  his  high  choker  collar: 
a  collar  whose  pointed  fronts  might  have  been 
successfully  used  by  Spanish  Inquisitors  to  make 
heretics  look  up  continually  unless  they  wished 
to  have  holes  punctured  under  their  chins. 

"The  reason  I  wear  this  tie,"  said  Thropper, 
confidentially,  "is  because  it  blocks  up  my  shirt 
bosom;  hides  it  and  saves  washing,  of  course. 
You've  got  to  get  on  to  all  those  sort  of  tricks 
when  you  work  your  way  through  school, 
you'll  find,  Priddy.  Now,  how  do  I  look,  eh?" 

I  thought  him  a  very  attractive  Lothario 
indeed,  although  I  did  not  venture  so  far  with 
an  expression  of  opinion.  I  merely  said, 

"You  look  slick!" 

As  he  was  leaving  the  room,  Thropper  sud- 
denly turned  and  in  a  very  apologetic  tone 
said, 

"I  had  planned,  Priddy,  to  stay  with  you 
tonight,  but  you  see  how  it  is,  don't  you,  old 
fellow?" 

"Why,  certainly,"  I  agreed.  "I  wouldn't 
like  to  have  you  miss  this  chance  for  anything, 
Thropper.  Go  ahead  and  good  luck!" 

"Thanks,"  he  said.  "You  can  lock  the  door 
when  you  go  to  bed  if  I'm  not  back.  You  must 
be  tired!" 

[37] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"Yes,  I  am  tired,  Thropper.  I'll  sit  by  the 
window  —  and  think.  Good  luck  to  you!" 

He  was  gone.  As  his  feet  echoed  in  the  bare 
hall,  I  heard  him  humming,  like  a  happy  lover, 

"There'll  be  no  dark  valley!" 

The  evening  shadows  were  gathering  outside, 
as  I  sat  near  the  window,  looking  out.  From 
the  village  centre  came  the  drawn  out  stroke 
of  a  church  bell.  Then  the  campus  was  alive 
with  sounds.  The  whole  University  seemed  astir. 
Some  one  raised  up  a  window  in  the  second 
story,  over  my  head,  and  a  quiet,  vibrant  voice 
called,  "Hey,  Brother  Merritt?"  The  man  in 
the  next  room  stopped  his  strumming  on  a 
guitar,  lifted  up  his  window  and  replied, 
"What?"  "Going  to  the  service  tonight, 
Brother  Merritt?"  To  which  my  neighbor 
answered,  "No,  I'm  afraid  I  can't.  I'm  tired." 
A  door  in  the  next  house  burst  open  and  a  trio 
of  young  women  gathered  on  the  porch. 
"That's  only  the  first  bell,"  said  one.  "We 
shan't  have  to  hurry."  "I'm  glad  of  that," 
replied  another,  "for  the  board  walk  is  just 
simply  terrible  in  places:  full  of  holes  that  we 
might  trip  in  if  we  had  to  run."  Then  their 
pattering  footfalls  could  be  heard  growing  dim- 
mer and  dimmer  in  the  distance  on  the  board 
walk.  Little  groups  of  young  men  hummed 
hymns  as  they,  too,  passed  Pungo  Hall  on  their 
way  to  the  revival.  Others  laughed  and  argued. 

[38] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

I  heard  the  fragment  of  one  discussion  in  which 
three  earnest-toned  young  men  were  indul- 
ging: "Saint  Paul  did  make  a  failure  in  that 
Mar's  Hill  speech!"  said  one,  loudly.  "It  all 
depends  on  what  you  mean  by  'failure,'"  re- 
plied his  antagonist;  "true,  the  Greeks  might  not 
have  been  strongly  enthusiastic  at  the  time, 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  God  would  use  that 
speech  for  —  No ! "  The  argument  was  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  twilight  and  the  distance.  A 
group  of  young  women  swept  by  the  gloom 
which  hung  like  a  mystic  veil  between  me  and 
them.  I  heard  only  one  sentence  of  their  con- 
versation, "  Fried  potatoes  —  ugh ! "  They  were 
succeeded  by  a  procession  of  late  starters  who 
slipped  by  shrouded  in  the  gloom,  a  happy, 
familiar,  shadowy  procession  ignorant  of  the 
lonesome  lad  who  sat  back  of  a  window  and 
envied  them  their  evening's  excursion.  The 
last  of  the  footsteps  died  down  on  the  board 
walk,  as  if  the  last  of  my  generation  had  left 
me  to  occupy  the  world  alone.  But  the  stars 
came  out  for  friendliness,  ruling  over  the  silences 
of  the  campus  and  rendering  it  more  silent. 
The  tolls  of  the  church  bell  announced  the  begin- 
ning of  the  service.  When  the  double  stroke 
had  been  given  for  a  last  warning,  the  silence 
was  about  me  once  more.  Suddenly  the 
troubled  cry  of  a  sheep  from  the  back  pasture 
broke  out  on  the  night,  a  plaintive  bleat  as  if 
a  dog  or  some  prowling  beast  of  prey  had  been 

[391 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

scented.  Then,  through  an  open  window  in 
the  next  house,  I  heard  the  voice  of  a  girl  as  it 
read  something,  followed  by  a  deeper  voice 
which  said,  "Oh,  yum,  I've  been  dozing,  Grace!" 
That  was  followed  by  a  hand  which  drew  apart 
the  curtains,  and  soon  two  girls'  heads  were 
outlined  against  the  golden  glow  in  the  room, 
and  one  remarked,  "Oh,  what  a  stupid  night!" 
I  hurriedly  dodged  my  head  into  the  room, 
drew  down  the  window  shade  and  lighted  the 
flaring,  hissing  blaze  of  gas. 

The  whole  room  was  cheapened  when  the 
powerful  gas  light  shone  on  it.  The  crowded 
space,  filled  with  the  tawdry  effects  of  my  room- 
mate and  myself :  the  rack  of  dusty  photographs 
of  people  I  had  never  seen,  the  stuffed  chair, 
the  bed  quilt,  the  water  bucket;  all  those  things 
oppressed  me.  I  turned  off  the  light  and  threw 
myself  on  the  bed  determined  not  to  undress  till 
Thropper's  return.  I  felt  the  need  of  Thropper. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  he  would  cheer  me,  hearten 
me,  be  a  companion.  I  began  to  speculate  about 
Thropper  in  a  dreamy  sort  of  way.  Over- 
head, some  one  began  to  walk  back  and  forth, 
back  and  forth,  monotonously,  humming  a 
tune  unknown  to  me.  I  listened  for  the  mel- 
ody hoping  to  discover  that  it  would  be  some- 
thing with  which  I  was  familiar,  so  that  I  could 
hum  it  too.  But  it  was  suddenly  interrupted 
by  a  terrific  yawn.  Then  the  man  upstairs 
said,  "Oh,  Oh-h-h!"  and  I  heard  the  clatter  as 

[40] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

a  pair  of  shoes  fell  on  the  floor.  The  man  was 
going  to  bed.  I  began  to  wonder  who  it  was 
that  had  been  walking  and  singing  and  going 
to  bed  over  my  head.  I  also  speculated  on  the 
social  value  of  a  speaking  tube  which  should  con- 
nect our  rooms.  Then  a  long,  long  silence, 
broken  at  last  by  a  clatter  in  the  hallway  and 
at  last  Thropper 's  cheery  voice, 

"Well,  you  couldn't  wait  to  undress,  eh, 
Priddy?" 

"Oh,"  I  mumbled,  "got  back?" 

"Yes,"  he  laughed.     "Isn't  it  time?" 

"What  time  is  it?" 

"Nearly  ten." 

"I  must  have  been  asleep,  Thropper.  The 
sounds  sent  me  off." 

"You  were  homesick,  I'll  bet,"  he  laughed. 
"That's  a  fine  description  of  it." 

"It  wouldn't  be  surprising,  would  it?"  I 
asked. 

"Not  a  bit,"  he  said,  "but  you  just  wait 
till  you  get  to  know  the  folks  about  here,  and 
you'll  get  over  that." 

"Did  you  have  a  good  service,  Thropper?" 

"Oh,  fair,"  he  replied.  "Fair.  Miss  Eb- 
berds  didn't  particularly  like  the  sermon." 

"But  she  enjoyed  the  walk  to  and  from  it," 
I  laughed. 

"Well,"  he  said  earnestly,  "I  know  I  did." 

While  he  was  preparing  himself  for  bed,  he 
said, 

[41] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"When  I  went  out  I  forgot  to  tell  you  about 
the  Scroll.  You  'might  have  had  a  good  time 
with  it.  Have  you  ever  seen  one?" 

"Scroll?" 

"Yes." 

"What  is  it?" 

Thropper  plunged  into  the  heart  of  his  trunk 
again,  and  this  time  extracted  a  black,  leather 
case.  He  opened  the  front,  turned  a  knob 
and  unfolded  a  scriptural  panorama  of  chromo 
pictures,  depicting  the  thrilling  events  which 
took  place  in  Eden,  first  of  all,  and  then  con- 
tinuing through  the  murder  of  Abel  to  the 
Flood. 

"I  was  agent  for  this  last  summer,"  said 
Thropper.  "Look  through  it,  Priddy,  it's  quite 
interesting." 

The  Scroll  had  unfolded  to  Sinai  accompan- 
ied by  a  running  comment  by  Thropper,  which, 
itself,  was  a  panorama  of  the  exciting  adven- 
tures of  a  Scroll  agent,  when  he  heaved  a  sigh 
and  said, 

"Oh,  urn!" 

I  looked  up  in  time  to  see  him  throw  himself 
on  his  knees  at  the  bed-side,  to  bend  his  head 
in  a  cup  made  by  his  hands,  for  his  evening 
prayer. 

The  Scroll  brought  before  me  the  Tabernacle, 
the  Temple,  the  victory  of  David  over  the 
Giant  in  the  midst  of  a  profound  silence. 
Thropper  was  still  engaged  in  his  devotions  as 

[42] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

devoutly,  as  deeply,  as  any  Augustinian  monk. 
The  panorama  of  the  Divine  Plan  unfolded  the 
adventures  which  befell  the  prophets  and  came 
at  last  to  the  Birth  of  Christ,  when  I  looked 
around  again  to  find  Thropper  still  kneeling  at 
the  bed-side.  To  me  it  was  a  display  of  the 
prayer-spirit  unusual  and  I  was  just  investing 
my  roommate  with  all  the  pious  dignity  of  a 
Saint,  when  a  loud,  long-drawn  snore  came  from 
him.  He  had  fallen  asleep !  I  shook  him.  He 
drawled,  as  he  crept  into  bed, 

"I'm  glad  you  wakened  me,  Priddy.  I  fall 
asleep  quite  often.  One  night  I  nearly  got 
frozen  to  death.  I  didn't  have  a  roommate. 
Thanks.  Turn  off  the  light,  won't  you." 

After  the  Crucifixion  I  closed  the  Scroll  and 
snuggled  into  bed  with  Thropper.  My  first 
day  in  Evangelical  University  had  ended. 


43] 


Chapter  IV.  Thundering  Gym- 
nastics. How  to  Keep  on  the 
Good  Side  of  the  Young  W^omen 
with  Scriptural  Quotations.  The 
Establishment  of  Friendship. 
Carrying  Water  for  Beauty. 
How  Music  may  be  Something 
More  than  Music.  The  Won- 
derful, Austere  Man  that  Thropper 
Led  me  to 

~^t  LINKED  myself  to  the  following  day's  life 
by  clutching  the  gaudy  comforter  in  both 
my  hands  while  I  sat  up  in  bed,  startled 
by  a  thundering  that  shook  Pungo  Hall. 

"What's —  that?"  I  gasped,  turning 
towards  Thropper,  expecting  to  discover  that 
the  vibrations  had  brought  him  up  in  alarm. 

"It's   only    'Budd'    doing   his   gymnastics," 
he  muttered,  drowsily,  "what  time?" 

[44] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"Six." 

"Better  get  up  and  go  over  to  the  dining  room 
at  half  past,"  he  explained.  "Say,"  he  added, 
lifting  up  his  head,  "  you  wouldn't  mind  letting 
me  know  at  twenty  minutes  past,  would  you, 
Priddy?" 

* '  Not  at  all,  Thropper . "  He  dropped  half  under 
the  clothes  and  in  a  surprising  manner  was  soon 
invested  in  all  the  dignity  of  thorough  repose. 

From  that  moment  until  the  clamor  of  the 
rising  bell,  at  half  past  six,  the  heart  of  Pungo 
Hall  was  turned  into  a  huge  alarm  clock,  for 
first  in  this  corner,  then  in  that,  on  this  floor 
and  then  on  that,  intermittent  clatterings  of 
clocks  brought  intermittent  yawns  and  mutter- 
ings  as  the  different  students  were  signalled 
by  their  unsleeping  timepieces.  Every  noise 
seemed  to  pierce  from  room  to  room  as  if  it 
went  through  telegraphic  sounding  boards. 
Splashings,  jumpings,  muttered  prayers,  read- 
ings aloud,  animated  conversations:  these 
increased  as  half  past  six  drew  near.  The 
Monday  morning,  with  its  new  week  of  study, 
demanding  a  fresh  enthusiasm  after  the  Sab- 
bath's interruption,  was  not  being  approached 
in  any  business  manner.  Over  the  banister, 
leading  to  the  top  floor,  a  voice  exclaimed,  so 
that  all  could  hear,  "Say,  Headstone,  how  fine 
you  looked  last  night  with  Her!"  To  which  an 
answer  came  from  a  suddenly  opened  door, 
"Thank  you!"  Then  over  that  banister,  into 

[45] 


the  laundry  basket,  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  hall, 
the  bed  wash  was  hurled  accompanied  by  dull 
thuds. 

"Got  your  quotation?"  asked  Thropper,  as 
he  dressed. 

"Quotation?" 

"Yes,  Bible  verse  for  the  tables.  You'll 
probably  be  asked  to  give  one.  You  see,  it's 
a  sort  of  custom  for  Bible  verses  to  go  the  rounds 
of  the  tables,  in  the  morning.  You  don't  have 
to  have  one,  but  it  fits  in  nicely,  if  you  have 
one.  Especially  if  you're  a  waiter." 

"Oh,  of  course  I'll  take  one,"  I  said. 

"Only  just  remember  and  not  do  what  one 
waiter  did,  Priddy:  take  that  verse  and  quote 
it:  'Let  your  women  keep  silence  in  the 
churches.'  It  would  get  you  in  wrong  —  with 
the  young  ladies." 

"Why?" 

"Well,  so  many  of  them  are  going  to  be  evan- 
gelists and  ministers  and  missionaries:  ever  so 
many  of  them.  You  see  how  they  would  be 
liable  to  take  it." 

"We  had  better  keep  on  the  good  side  of  — 
the  ladies,"  I  laughed. 

Thropper  winked. 

"Betcher  life,"  he  replied. 

Just  then  the  head  waiter  peeped  in  at  the 
door  to  say, 

"Brother  Priddy,  are  you  coming  across  to 
the  dining  room?  I'm  going  over." 

[461 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

Eager  to  face  my  responsibilities  of  the  day 
in  the  leadership  of  somebody  I  accompanied 
the  tall  German  across  the  road  and  into  the 
dining  room. 

"Black  for  breakfast  and  supper.  White 
for  dinner,"  announced  Brock.  "I  mean  the 
kind  of  coats  that  are  to  be  worn,"  he  explained. 

While  I  arranged  my  two  tables  for  twenty 
people  with  plates,  knives  and  forks,  milk  in 
granite-ware  pitchers,  sliced  bread,  corn  bread 
left  over  from  the  previous  night's  meal,  tomato 
butter,  and  dishes  of  crisp,  browned,  fried 
potatoes,  the  other  waiters  came  in  and  greeted 
me  with  hearty, 

"Morning's!"  "  Howdy 's!"  and  "Hello, 
Priddy's!"  which  had  the  effect  of  making  me 
feel  in  strong  fellowship  with  them,  although 
our  acquaintance  was  but  a  day  and  a  night 
old,  at  the  utmost.  Brock  smiled  at  all  these 
evidences  of  friendship,  and  whispered,  as  he 
showed  me  how  to  arrange  the  breakfast 
things, 

"Things  are  going  well,  eh?" 

"Yes,"  I  muttered,  "if  I  can  manage  not  to 
drop  another  tray!" 

Then  the  breakfast  bell  brought  the  hurried, 
chattering,  hungry  crowd  of  young  men  and 
women  into  the  room  again,  though,  at  this 
meal,  they  were  less  formidable  in  their  every- 
day clothes.  Some  brought  books,  others  writ- 
ing pads.  Fountain  pens  and  pencils  projected 

[47] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

from  the  outer  pockets  of  the  men,  and  were 
stabbed  in  the  hair  of  the  women. 

My  tables  were  soon  lined  with  students. 
They,  too,  seemed  to  have  met  me,  long  ago, 
in  the  remote  past  and  to  some  of  them  I  must 
have  been  at  least  a  third  cousin  or  present  at 
a  family  party,  so  freely  and  lavishly  did  the 
greetings  come:  greetings  that  put  me  at  my 
ease  because  I  felt  that  they  came  from  sincere 
hearts. 

The  floor  was  ready  to  bend  under  the  weight 
of  the  crowd  that  stood  waiting  behind  the 
chairs  for  Brock's  signal  to  sit.  Like  a  stern, 
powerful,  determining  Ruler,  the  head  waiter 
stood  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  room,  with  his 
eye  on  his  watch,  not  willing  to  press  his  thumb 
on  the  Sunday  School  bell  until  the  instant  seven 
o'clock  arrived.  Eyes  looked  longingly  on  the 
hot,  fried  potatoes.  It  was  no  use.  Seven 
o'clock  was  a  minute  off.  Some  rumbled  the 
legs  of  the  chairs.  To  no  purpose.  The  Ger- 
man had  patience.  Finally  the  snap  of  the 
bell  sent  every  man  and  woman  to  the  table 
accompanied  by  the  roar  of  scraping  chairs, 
thumping  feet,  and  expressions  of  satisfaction. 

Near  the  head  of  my  first  table  sat  a  very 
young,  pink-cheeked  Southern  girl  possessed 
of  charming,  gracious  ways.  Her  "Mr.  Priddy, 
please,  a  spoon,"  was  as  musical  as  ever  a  re- 
quest could  be.  It  made  me  feel  sorry  that 
the  spoon  was  not  gold  instead  of  German  metal. 

[48] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

Consequently,  when  she  asked  me  for  a  third 
glass  of  water  during  the  first  five  minutes  of 
breakfast,  it  was  no  small  happiness  for  me  to 
secure  it,  as  speedily  as  possible,  for  her.  But 
on  my  return  with  the  third  glass  her  neighbor 
asked  for  one.  On  my  return  with  that,  the 
Southern  girl  had  her  glass  emptied.  So  it 
went  for  ten  minutes:  each  one  of  them  drink- 
ing amounts  of  water  sufficient  for  ducks  or 
geese  to  swim  in  —  it  seemed  to  me.  Finally, 
on  picking  up  a  fork  someone  had  let  fall  on 
the  floor,  I  saw  several  glasses,  full  to  the  brim 
with  water,  under  the  Southern  girl's  chair. 
She  had  been  initiating  me.  With  a  broad  wink 
at  the  others,  I  very  slyly  sprinkled  some 
pepper  on  the  glass  of  water  before  her  when  her 
head  was  turned  and  then  waited  for  results. 
They  soon  came.  She  reached  for  her  glass, 
took  a  sip,  and  then  commenced  to  choke. 

"What  is  the  matter,  miss?"  I  asked,  "will 
you  have  some  more  water?" 

She  looked  at  me  in  resentful  astonishment, 
at  first,  and  then  seeing  that  the  others  at  the 
table  were  laughing,  she  joined  in  with  them, 
saying, 

"Who  peppered  the  water?" 

"Was  there  pepper  in  the  water?"  asked  one 
across  the  table. 

There  the  matter  ended,  although,  when  in  a 
spirit  of  boastfulness  I  recounted  the  experience 
at  the  waiter's  table,  Brock  chided  me  by  saying, 

[49] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"  You  will  have  to  be  careful.  We  must  have 
discipline,  brother  Priddy!" 

Thropper  was  waiting  for  me,  after  break- 
fast, when  the  call  to  chapel  sounded:  the  first 
exercise  of  the  day.  We  joined  the  proces- 
sion of  students  which  moved  swiftly  towards 
the  central  building.  Into  it  the  procession 
hurried,  racing  against  the  tolling  of  the  bell. 
Then  followed  a  tiresome  climb  up  three  pairs 
of  stairs  to  the  topmost  room  of  all,  used  for  a 
chapel.  An  attic  room,  square  and  dimly 
lighted  by  dormer  windows.  The  roof  girders 
overhead  clung  together  like  knitted  arms  bent 
on  holding  together  such  a  load  of  humanity 
as  trusted  to  them.  Against  the  wall,  oppo- 
site the  door,  spread  a  broad  platform  with  a 
semicircle  of  male  and  female  faculty  arrayed 
on  it.  Before  it,  and  awed  into  respectful 
silence  by  it,  spread  a  fan  of  students,  sitting  in 
chairs,  by  groups.  I  sat  at  the  heart  of  Evan- 
gelical University.  This  chapel,  in  its  plain- 
ness, its  bareness,  its  poverty,  formed  the  pivot 
on  which  the  life  of  the  University  swung;  for 
here  the  religious  faith  and  doctrine  which  were 
the  most  eagerly  sought  gifts  of  the  place  were 
received.  Here,  in  these  simple  chairs,  was 
where  men  and  women  found  God:  the  highest 
advertisement  of  the  University. 

The  doors  closed  out  late-comers.  A  hymn 
was  sung.  This  has  been  said,  and  echoed  many 
a  time:  that  a  hymn  was  sung.  But  this  first 

[50] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

hymn  I  heard,  proceeding  from  over  a  hundred 
hearts,  should  not  be  plainly,  unemphatically 
said  to  have  been  merely  sung.  If  each  word 
be  trebly  underscored  and  trebly  emphasized, 
then,  one  may  say,  a  hymn  was  sung  that  morn- 
ing, for  to  me,  the  first  bar  of  melody  seemed  to 
be  the  onrush  of  an  Angelic  symphony  through 
a  suddenly  opened  door  of  Heaven!  Were  they 
common  men  and  women  who  were  singing  with 
such  resonant  exultation!  The  boarded  ceil- 
ing and  the  huge  square  attic  room  throbbed 
with  it.  Rapture,  adoration,  victory,  joy  un- 
speakable weighted  down  each  note  as  the 
melody  unfolded  itself.  The  reliant  basses, 
anchored  to  the  background  of  the  melody — 
a  resonant,  manly  anchorage — made  sudden 
excursions  into  the  higher  realms  of  the  theme, 
but  not  to  displace  the  tenors  whose  shrill 
praises  were  the  nearest  to  what  a  hammer 
stroke  on  a  bar  of  silver  would  produce.  The 
dulcet  altos,  as  rich  depths  of  throat  as  any 
one  might  expect,  entwined  themselves  in  and 
out  of  the  sopranos'  soaring,  singing  as  if  to 
keep  those  higher  voices  from  too  suddenly 
darting  past  the  doors  of  Heaven  and  surpris- 
ing God.  That  was  no  mere  singing  of  a  hymn. 
It  was  a  hymn  for  the  love  of  the  hymn ;  singing 
for  the  pure  love  of  singing.  Or,  better,  a  spir- 
itual exercise  that  could  certainly  be  no  more 
willingly  or  much  better  done  in  a  morning 
rehearsal  of  the  Court  melodists! 

[51] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"Wonderful!"  I  gasped  to  Thropper,  whose 
tenor  had  added  much  to  the  dignity  of  that 
part. 

"They  do  sing  well,  don't  they?"  he  com- 
mented. 

A  demure  little  woman  in  black,  with  a  very 
set,  white  face,  came  to  the  reading  desk  and 
read  a  scripture  lesson.  Then  the  sober  Dean, 
whose  eyes  knew  every  thought  in  that  room 
and  said  so,  gave  some  notices.  There  followed 
a  prayer  whose  outstanding  character  was 
earnestness  of  expression,  of  theme,  of  length. 
Then  the  whole  service  was  embroidered  by 
three  verses  of  another  hymn,  after  which  we 
fell  in  orderly  lines  and  marched  through  the 
open  doors,  where  an  electric  gong  broke  up 
the  line  into  unorganized  groups,  scattering  for 
the  classrooms. 

"Now  for  the  President's  office,"  announced 
Thropper,  abruptly. 

But  a  sudden  pang  of  fear  whipped  across 
my  thoughts. 

"Oh,  suppose  I  can't  enter,  Thropper!"  I 
exclaimed.  "It  has  tasted  so  good,  thus  far!" 

He  patted  me  on  the  back,  in  his  manly  way, 
did  Thropper,  and  heartened  me  by  saying, 

"Well,  Priddy,  if  you  like  the  first  taste,  I 
guess  you'll  stay  for  the  whole  meal  —  if  you 
are  hungry!" 

"Thanks,  old  fellow,"  I  said.  "Take  me  to 
the  President!" 

[52] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

He  led  me  downstairs  into  a  very  busy  office 
where  some  young  women  were  typewriting, 
inscribing  books,  and  where  one  dudish  young 
man  with  up-combed,  wavy  hair,  was  flirting 
with  a  pretty,  tan-cheeked  girl  who  was  sup- 
posed to  be  engrossed  in  the  task  of  trimming 
a  window  shelf  of  geraniums. 

Thropper  was  told  that  the  President  was 
engaged  and  that  we  should  have  to  wait  our 
turn.  So  we  sat  in  high-backed  chairs,  in  line 
with  three  others,  where  I  waited  with  a  pal- 
pitating heart  that  began  to  spell  panic  if 
my  turn  were  delayed  much  longer.  To  in- 
crease this  threatened  panic  of  courage,  Thropper 
began  to  whisper  terrible  things  about  the  Pres- 
ident: how  he  was  a  wonderful  reader  of  books 
and  had  a  mentality  and  memory  so  well  dis- 
ciplined that  he  was  able  to  read  an  entire 
page  at  a  mere  glance  and  be  able  to  pass  an 
exacting  examination  on  its  contents  a  day 
afterwards!  Thropper  also  whispered  in  an 
awe-struck  voice, 

"The  President  just  feeds  on  learning!  He 
can  speak  in  ten  different  languages,  read  in 
fifteen,  about,  and  think  in  twelve:  so  they  say. 
You  mustn't  fool  with  him  or  tell  him  any  funny 
stories !  He'd  never  get  over  it,  Priddy .  Now, 
come  on,  it's  your  turn.  I'll  introduce  you  and 
leave  you  with  him!" 

My  sensitive  imagination  enkindled  by  all 
that  Thropper  had  fed  me  on,  in  the  waiting 

[53] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

room,  I  appeared  before  the  President  consider- 
ably unnerved.  He  sat  behind  his  desk,  wait- 
ing for  me:  the  embodiment  of  every  austere 
report  I  had  heard.  His  mouth  twitched; 
twitched  all  the  time.  His  eyes  shone  as 
brightly  as  those  of  an  aroused  lion  from  the 
dark  mask  of  a  cave.  It  was  a  race  between 
his  mouth  and  his  eyes:  the  mouth  slipped  in 
and  out,  lip  over  lip,  lip  under  and  over  lip, 
while  those  two  small  eyes  snapped  back  and 
forth  with  electric  suddenness.  His  gaunt  fea- 
tures had  the  pallor  of  death.  A  world  of  woe, 
of  hunger,  of  intellectual  dissipation  could  be 
read  in  him.  He  tried  to  compose  his  features 
into  a  smile  of  welcome  when  he  saw  me,  but  it 
seemed  so  unusual  a  thing  for  those  ascetic 
signs  to  be  disturbed  by  the  intrusion  of  anything 
pleasurable,  that  the  first  attempt  ended  in  a 
sad  failure.  He  did  not  try  again.  His  voice 
was  tired  when  he  spoke.  It  had  neither 
vibration  nor  health  in  it.  I  stood  before  that 
presence  chilled,  uninspired,  while  a  strong 
temptation  to  flight  pulled  on  my  courage. 

"Sir,"  began  Thropper,  fingering  his  cap, 
"I've  brought  Mr.  Priddy  in.  He  came  yester- 
day, and  I've  been  letting  him  share  my  room 
till  he  saw  you." 

"Had  seen,'  you  should  say,  sir,"  corrected 
the  President,  "if  you  are  after  the  proper 
tense  of  the  verb.  You  may  go." 

Thropper  sighed  deeply  as  he  left,  probably 
[54] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

over  the  grammatical  correction  just  imposed 
on  him. 

A  seat  was  indicated  and  I  was  asked  to  place 
myself  in  it.  Then  the  President  said, 

"Just  tell  your  story  in  your  own  way  till 
I  interrupt  you,  young  man." 

Thereupon  I  went  into  such  minute  details 
about  myself,  that  I  soon  brought  from  the 
official  a  grunt  of  impatience. 

"No,"  he  said,  "I'm  not  a  bit  eager  to  know 
how  many  times  your  family  has  moved  about 
the  country.  I  want  to  know  the  salient  things 
about  you  yourself." 

"I've  been  working  in  the  mill  till  last  week," 
I  said.  "I  always  have  been  eager  to  get  an 
education.  I  haven't  been  able  to  save  any 
money.  I  heard  about  this  place.  I  came  on. 
If  you  can't  take  me,  then  please  let  me  live 
here;  just  live  here,  it  will  do  me  good  even  if 
I  don't  take  any  studies.  I  can  work  out  and 
earn  my  board,  I  promise  you.  I  have  been 
earning  my  own  living  for  a  long  time  now, 


sir. 

(4 


How  much  money  have  you  brought?"  he 
asked. 

"Three  dollars,"  I  said.  "But  you  don't 
need  to  take  me  in  yet,  sir,"  I  explained,  hur- 
riedly, for  I  felt  that  he  would  surely  turn  me 
off.  ' 

"A  young  woman  came  here,  last  year,  with 
just  four  cents  in  her  pocket  and  only  her  own 

[55] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

strength  to  rely  upon,  young  man,"  replied 
the  President.  "Her  own  strength  and  God  to 
rely  upon,  I  should  say,  sir." 

"Yes?" 

"There  are  several  here  who,  at  middle  age, 
have  arrived  with  wives  and  families  and  hardly 
more  than  enough  to  keep  them  a  week,  save 
their  own  strength  and  God's." 

"Yes?" 

"There  is  one  student  here  who,  at  forty -five, 
has  given  up  his  position  in  business  to  begin  in 
the  lowest  grade  of  study,  with  arithmetic,  that 
he  may  receive  an  education." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"So  that  you,  with  your  youth,  your  three 
dollars,  your  opportunity,  ought  really  to  get 
along  fairly  well  here." 

"If  you  take  me,  sir?" 

"Do  you  think  we  would  turn  you  off,  young 
man?" 

"You  mean  that  you'll  give  me  a  chance, 
then?"  I  cried,  in  great  exultation  at  his  quiet 
words. 

At  last  a  faint  smile  did  untangle  itself  from 
his  austere  line. 

"You  are  already  earning  your  board  in  the 
dining  hall,  I  understand." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"That  leaves  merely  the  small  item  of  tui- 
tion and  room  rent.  I  think  that  you  will  be 
able  to  find  enough  work  about  the  campus 

[56] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

and  in  the  village  to  arrange  for  the  payment  of 
that.  If  not,  you  should  be  able  to  earn  enough 
next  summer  to  do  it." 

"Just  the  thing,  sir,"  I  cried.  "I'll  do  it! 
Here  is  the  first  payment."  I  handed  him  the 
three  dollars. 

He  waved  his  hand. 

" Keep  them  for  necessities,"  he  said.  "There 
is  no  hurry.  God  is  back  of  us,  young  man, 
and  will  raise  up  friends  for  us.  I  want  you 
to  work  hard  and  make  of  yourself  a  useful  man 
in  the  world.  We  have  no  luxuries  here.  It  is 
plain  living  and  high  thinking:  the  two  essen- 
tial equipments  of  manhood,  I  believe.  If  you 
will  share  our  hardships  faithfully  and  work 
hard,  we  welcome  you  to  us.  That  is  all.  Now 
we  will  see  about  your  list  of  studies." 

After  fifteen  minutes'  appraisement  of  my 
intellectual  attainments  and  of  my  intellectual 
aim,  the  President  made  me  out  a  list  of  sub- 
jects with  such  diverse  studies  on  it  as:  Begin- 
ning Grammar,  Church  history,  elementary 
arithmetic,  Jevon's  Logic,  elementary  Latin, 
typewriting  and  zoology!  I  hurried  from  the 
office,  with  the  card,  to  attend  my  first  class, 
the  first  real  step  in  my  higher  education,  the 
class  in  Church  history! 


[57] 


Chapter  V.  Pungo  HaWs  Occu- 
pants: Estes  Who  Planned  to  Take 
a  Tent  and  Plant  it  in  the  Midst 
of  the  World's  Sin;  of  the  Little 
Man  Who  Fled  from  the  C hidings 
of  a  CZ). /).'.•  of  Calloused  Hands 
and  Showing  How  'Pa'  Borden 
was  Beaten  by  the  Grass  Widower 
with  the  Long  Hair 

EVERY  scar  that  a  sin  may  leave,  every 
phase  of    ambition  made  possible  in 
a    democratic    world,    every    type    of 
dramatic  character:  these  I  found  in 
Pungo   Dormitory.     As   to   a   shelter 
from  the  world's  temptations  had  come  firm- 
lipped,  tense-browed  men  in  middle  life.     As 
to  the  door  which  led  into  serviceable  adventures, 
had  come  stout-hearted,  finely-fibred  but  poor 
youths.     Evangelical    University    meant    more 
than  a  place  where  one  could  get  a  formal  edu- 

[58] 


THROUGH  THE    SCHOOL 

cation.  To  some  it  meant  a  haven  from  a 
rough  sea:  a  sea  so  rough,  indeed,  that  but  for 
the  harbor  must  have  wrecked  them  inevitably. 
The  sea,  for  instance,  on  which  Estes,  in  Num- 
ber 18,  had  found  such  tempestuous  experiences. 
To  imagine  Estes  you  have  to  think  of  two  small, 
very  glistening  black  eyes  shining  through  a 
forest  of  beard  like  hut  lights  gleaming  like 
faint  stars  in  the  midst  of  a  dense  grove.  That 
was  all  you  noticed,  at  first,  about  him,  for  his 
body  was  insignificant,  unimportant.  The  little 
knobs  of  cheek  that  came  between  the  eyes  and 
the  black  beard  shone  with  a  dull  red  glow, 
like  flesh  that  the  winds  and  the  frosts  had 
hardened  and  tinted.  When  on  the  campus, 
Estes  crowned  his  blackish  head  with  a  cow-boy's 
sombrero,  worn  at  a  rakish,  foppish  slant,  as  if 
he  were  trying  to  be  reminiscent  of  a  Mexican 
senor.  A  man  to  be  called  merely  a  poseur  when 
met  on  the  campus  or  in  the  classroom,  with 
his  arithmetic,  his  grammar,  his  English  his- 
tory, and  his  black  teacher's  Bible  in  the  crook 
of  his  arm;  a  thirty-seven-year-old  man  with 
his  foot  on  the  first  rung  of  the  educational  lad- 
der. To  most  of  the  students  he  was  known 
only  in  the  role  of  "elementary  student."  But 
in  the  confidence  of  his  chamber,  among  his 
selected  friends,  when  he  opened  his  record,  it 
was  akin  to  the  opening  of  furnace  doors  to  show 
the  furious  white  heat  of  a  man's  sinful  passion 
and  the  dark,  twisting,  sulphurous  smoke  of 

[59] 


THROUGH  THE    SCHOOL 

criminal  deceit.  He  had  betrayed  men  and 
women  in  selfish  conspiracies;  had  drowned  his 
wit  in  seas  of  alcohol ;  had  abandoned  his  mother 
and  family  to  the  cruelties  of  poverty  and  ill- 
ness; had  stolen  money  and  honor  from  his 
fellows;  had  mixed  in  the  cheap  and  petty  evil 
sports  of  sailors  and  tramps ;  had  roamed  through 
the  land  in  the  guise  of  an  Indian  doctor  sell- 
ing watery  and  greasy  medicaments  under  a 
hissing,  gasolene  torch  to  confiding  purchasers; 
had  held  responsible  positions  in  shops ;  had  — 
there  seemed  to  be  no  end  to  his  adventures  in 
which  the  coloring  always  turned  out  to  be  the 
fact  that  in  all  of  them  he  had  introduced  ele- 
ments of  sin,  of  criminality,  of  cruelty.  They 
always  ended  against  those  grim  stone  walls! 
After  walking  through  the  pages  of  several 
high-strung  romances  of  vagabondage  and 
clap-trap  he  had  turned  to  Evangelical  Uni- 
versity as  to  the  mould  for  a  new  character 
which  was  to  form  him  over,  not  only  into  a 
socialized  being,  but  into  a  serviceable,  spiritual 
servant;  for  after  he  should  have  had  ingrained 
on  him  the  elementary  knowledge  of  Grammar, 
Bible,  and  History,  he  planned  to  take  a  tent 
into  the  world,  set  it  in  the  midst  of  the  slums 
for  a  season,  and  nightly  exhort  bad  men  to 
become  good  with  the  same  fervid  impulsive- 
ness with  which  he  had  formerly  exhorted  them, 
under  the  yellow  blaze  of  gasolene  lamps,  to 
buy  pills  and  medicine-cure-alls. 

[60] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

In  room  "20"  dwelt  a  student  of  an  oppo- 
site type  who  embodied  in  an  eloquent  degree 
the  strength  and  adventure  to  which  ambi- 
tion may  attain.  "Dr."  Upwell  was  a  little 
north-of -Ireland  Scotchman,  past  his  forty- 
third  summer:  an  ordained  clergyman  in  an 
energetic  denomination.  He  was  one  of  those 
unfortunate  men  —  of  which  there  are  a  sad 
number  in  the  pastorate  —  who,  in  a  moment  of 
illogical  frailty  had  succumbed  to  the  tempta- 
tion which  a  letter  offered,  of  securing  for  a 
trivial  sum  of  dollars  the  dignified,  honorary 
degree  of  "Doctor  of  Divinity."  At  first  the 
privilege  of  adding  two  capital  "D's"  to  his 
name,  on  his  letter  heads,  his  visiting  cards,  his 
church  advertisements  in  the  Saturday  evening 
paper,  and  on  the  gold-lettered  sign  in  front  of 
his  church,  had  been  highly  appraised.  Those 
two  "D's"  had  added  almost  a  furlong  to  his 
mental  egoism.  He  felt  himself  admitted  to 
the  highest  peak  where  dwelt  the  chosen  theolog- 
ical giants.  But  finally,  after  much  thinking 
—  for  Upwell  was  at  heart  an  honorable  man  — 
conscience  had  asserted  itself  with  a  flaming 
manifestation  that  shrivelled  up  this  mental 
egoism  and  left  inside  the  poor  man's  mind  a 
mass  of  smoking,  smouldering  remorse  which 
no  amount  of  "Poohing"  could  quench.  Con- 
science, in  that  sure  way  it  has,  and  blunt,  kept 
saying:  "You  are  not  worthy  of  the  'D.D.'  In 
the  first  place,  you  are  ill  furnished  with  educa- 

[61] 


THROUGH  THE    SCHOOL 

tion.  You  have  never  been  under  the  disci- 
pline of  a  school.  What  you  have  is  merely 
the  results  of  desultory  home  reading.  You 
have  never  accomplished  anything  worthy  of  a 
'D.D. '  honor.  You  are  minister  to  a  handful 
of  farmers,  in  an  isolated  community,  in  a 
church  which  pays  a  salary  of  five  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  a  year  —  when  it  does.  You  have 
never  made  more  than  four  speeches  in  Confer- 
ence, and  they  were  in  debate  —  remarks  from 
the  floor,  in  which  the  Chairman  found  you  '  out- 
of -order'  twice!  You  have  played  no  heroic 
part  in  social  reform  or  made  any  spiritual 
stir.  The  degree  was  purchased  because  you 
were  selfishly  ambitious.  It  was  sold  to  you 
in  cold  blood  by  a  college  that  funded  itself, 
partly,  by  such  sales.  Suppose  that  Peter, 
when  you  came  to  the  gates  of  Heaven,  should 
ask  you,  'Upwell,  give  me  name,  dignities,  and 
titles!'  what  would  you  reply?  'Chad worth 
Upwell,  Doctor  of  Divinity!'  with  a  host  of 
angels  to  laugh  at  you?  Not  so.  You  would 
feel  cheap,  miserable!" 

Thus  stung  more  and  more  into  remorse,  the 
little  Scotchman  had  finally  been  driven  out  to 
seek  a  place  where,  at  least,  he  could  be  worthy 
of  his  ill-gotten  honorary  degree.  He  had 
come  to  Evangelical  University  to  fill  the  mind 
with  theology,  ethics,  history,  and  literature, 
so  that  at  the  end  of  a  year  or  two  there  might 
be  some  degree  of  merit  and  fitness  when  he 

[621 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

placed  "D.D."  after  his  name!  Of  course, 
Upwell  did  not  put  it  in  that  bald  way,  but  from 
the  persistency  with  which  he  rolled  the  "D.D. " 
under  his  tongue,  while  criticizing  the  posses- 
sion of  it,  it  was  not  difficult  to  know  that  he 
would  never  bury  it. 

In  Pungo  Hall  I  came  face  to  face  with  young 
men  to  whom  the  gates  of  educational  privi- 
lege had  been  closed  until  they,  like  myself, 
were  on  the  threshold  of  young  manhood. 
They  had  come  from  the  hearts  of  coal  mines 
and  breakers,  bringing  their  life's  dreams  with 
them,  and  an  indomitable  purpose.  Every 
penny  they  spent  for  books  and  board  had 
been  earned  by  the  sweat  of  their  brow.  They 
had  come,  many  of  them,  from  far-away  farms 
and  from  the  Southern  mountain  fastnesses 
where  life's  expressions  of  hope  and  desire  were 
to  be  seen  in  crude  form;  where  they  found  that 
it  took  the  "breath  of  an  ideal  to  blow  the 
dust  off  the  actual."  Hands  I  shook,  in  fellow- 
ship, that  were  scarred  from  hard  toil,  calloused 
through  contact  with  the  tools  of  labor. 

The  comprehensiveness  of  the  curriculum  of 
Evangelical  University  was  shown  in  the  case 
of  the  Borden  family.  I  became  intimately 
acquainted  with  the  head  of  the  family,  Julius 
Borden,  while  cutting  sugar  cane  on  the  Uni- 
versity farm.  Julius  was  a  pale  edition  of 
Falstaff:  fat,  self-sufficient,  self-important,  with 
a  scraggly  yellowish  moustache  half  screening 

[63] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

his  pouting  lips,  and  with  a  triple  chin  constantly 
slipping  like  a  worm  back  and  forth  over  the 
folds  of  the  points  of  his  collar.  Mr.  Borden, 
even  at  forty-two,  after  the  discipline  of  busi- 
ness, married  life,  and  children,  took  himself 
too  seriously.  He  spoke  with  hesitating  pre- 
cision, though  not  with  grammatical  fluency, 
as  if  he  had  predetermined  that  no  word  should 
ever  come  from  the  depths  of  his  profundity 
that  did  not  aptly  fit  into  the  seriousness  of 
life.  The  merest  word  I  flung  at  him  became 
a  challenge  that  could  be  answered  only  when 
the  hoe  had  been  put  down,  the  moustache 
pulled,  the  brows  contracted  in  thought,  and 
the  throat  cleared.  When  I  greeted  him  with 
a  trivial,  "How  do!"  he  could  not  trust  himself 
to  reply  with  audible  words;  he  wanted  me  to 
take  his  acquiescence  for  granted  —  I  could 
see  it  by  the  surprised  look  in  his  eyes.  As  he 
had  been  a  success  at  the  grave-stone  business, 
had  been  married  the  longest  of  any  of  the  mar- 
ried students,  and  possessed  the  most  children, 
he  seemed  to  realize  that  these  were  tokens  of 
superior  power  when  compared  to  our  bachelor, 
or  the  other  married  students'  bridal,  limita- 
tions. He  fairly  withered  our  proffered  sug- 
gestions or  theories  or  criticisms,  with  his 
weighty  authoritative,  "I've  seen  so  much, 
you  see!"  It  was,  in  his  own  estimation,  equal 
to  a  hurricane  from  the  Talmud  blowing  on  the 
chaff  of  the  Apocrypha.  By  reason  of  this  con- 

[64] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

stantly   paraded   wisdom,   Julius  soon  became 
current  on  the  campus  as  "Pa"  Borden. 

He  had  given  up  his  grave-stone  business; 
had  brought  his  money,  his  wife,  and  two  chil- 
dren to  the  University  for  a  "family  fitting"  as 
he  termed  it;  much  as  a  farmer  goes  to  the  gen- 
eral store  with  his  family  to  be  clothed,  shoed, 
and  candied.     The  wife,  at  her  marriage,  had 
just  graduated  from  a  high  school,  so  that  she 
entered  the  collegiate  department  of  the  Uni- 
versity, on  her  way  towards  an  A.B.   to  be 
earned  outside  of  the  chicken-raising  in  which 
she    indulged.     Jack,    a    quick-witted    lad    of 
twelve,  found  a  place  in  the  elementary  classes, 
by  the  side  of  Estes,  two  Porto  Ricans,  a  Japan- 
ese, a  missionary's  little  girl,  and  several  other 
students  who  had  to  commence  at  the  bottom 
of  the  educational  scale.     Edith,  a  romantic- 
eyed  daughter,  who  wore  Scotch-plaid  dresses 
and  Sis  Hopkins'  braids,  was  plunging  through 
the  College  Preparatory  division  close  on  the 
heels  of  her  mother.     The  father,  least  of  the 
family  in  school  discipline,  had  to  humble  him- 
self so  low  as  to  take  his  place  with  a  backward 
grass  widower  in  a  "B"  section  of  the  grammar 
class  because  of  his  tendency  to  forget,  after 
a  day,  the  relations  and  distinctions  between 
verbs  and  nouns  and  the  various  other  members 
of  the  grammar  family.     But  Julius  saw  to  it 
that  besides  the  baneful  necessity  of  his  humble 
place  in  the  grammar  class  he  came  to  a  proper 

[65] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

level  in  those  studies  in  which  he  could  express 
his  preference.  He  revelled  in  the  Bible  class, 
the  Historical  and  the  Oratorical  classes  to  his 
heart's  content,  but  though  he  shone  creditably 
in  them,  he  never  could  quite  clear  himself 
from  the  "B"  section  of  the  grammar  class; 
grammar  being  his  thorn  in  the  flesh,  as  he  tes- 
tified in  one  evening's  prayer-meeting,  when  the 
Apostle  Paul  and  his  historic  affliction  was  the 
lesson.  Even  the  backward  grass  widower,  who 
had  a  thick  mass  of  shining  curls  and  intended 
becoming  a  temperance  "orator"  finally  gradu- 
ated from  the  "B"  section,  thereby  heightening 
the  shame  of  poor  Julius,  who  seemed  predes- 
tined to  do  poorly  with  the  science  of  speech, 
and  forever  linger  in  the  shadow  of  the  "poor- 
doers." 


[66] 


Chapter  VI.  Financial  Pessimism 
Taken  in  Hand  by  Thropper  and 
Shown  in  its  Real  Light.  A  Turkish 
Rug  that  Smoked.  A  Poet  in 
Search  of  Kerosene.  Wonderful 
Antics  of  an  Ironing-Board.  Econ- 
omy at  a  Tub.  Three  more  TVait- 
ing  for  it  After  Brock's  Bath.  The 
Chemical  Reduction  of  a  Cauldron 
of  Tomatoes  into  Something  Sweet 

MY  capital  of  three  dollars  was  very 
quickly    expended.     After    I    had 
spent  the  last  quarter  of   a  dollar 
for   writing   paper   and    pens,   my 
pockets   were   as    empty    as    they 
were   the   hour   I    bought   my   suit   from    the 
Jewish    merchant.     I    stood    penniless    in    the 
first  week  of  my  educational  career:  a  realiza- 

[671 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

tion  that  brought  out  every  atom  of  self- 
distrust,  philosophical  pessimism  and  gloomy 
foreboding.  I  had  been  completely  dependent 
upon  nickels  and  half  dollars  previously.  I 
had  not  moved  without  they  paved  the  way. 
Nothing  of  enjoyment  and  privilege  had 
been  secured  without  money.  Theatres,  games, 
parties,  trips;  these  had  always  made  their 
call  on  my  spending  money.  Now  I  stood  facing 
an  academic  career  absolutely  without  a  penny 
and  with  no  possible  hope  that  in  the  outside 
world  there  would  ever  be  any  benefactor  to 
forward  one.  I  was  stranded.  I  thought  of 
the  students  who  relied  upon  monthly  checks 
from  home  or  from  friends.  I  thought  of  the 
students  who  had  their  own  bank  accounts 
which  would  carry  them  through  the  school. 
I  thought,  with  a  kindling  of  envy,  of  the  stu- 
dents who  the  previous  summer  had  earned 
the  following  year's  expenses.  I  secured  a 
minimum  of  comfort  from  such  reflections. 
They  plunged  me  deeper  and  deeper  into  the 
gulping  pit  that  sucks  enthusiasm  out  of  life. 

Thropper  found  me,  standing  by  the  window, 
indulging  in  such  a  dispiriting  review  of  my 
prospects.  In  his  bustling  way  he  shouted: 

"Well,  Priddy,  what's  the  row  now,  eh?" 

"I  shouldn't  be  —  here,"  I  choked. 

"Well,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  thought  you'd  get 
'em  —  soon." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Thropper?" 
[68] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"Homesick  blues,  that's  all.  You've  got 
every  symptom  showing,  Priddy.  They're  on 
you,  all  right." 

"I'm  not  homesick,  Thropper,"  I  blurted  out. 
"I  have  no  reason  to  be  homesick.  It's  not  that 
at  all.  I'm  fretting  about  money:  that's  all." 

"The  root  of  all  evil,"  he  mocked. 

"Wrong  there,  Thropper."  I  half  smiled, 
cheered  beyond  measure  by  his  banter.  "I 
heard  a  preacher  say  that  the  Bible  said,  'The 
love  of  money  is  the  root  of  evil.' ' 

"Well,"  bluffed  Thropper,  "what's  the  dif- 
ference? Wherever  you  find  money  you  find 
the  love  of  it.  They  are  synonymous." 

"I'm  in  no  danger  from  either,  about  this 
time,  Thropper.  I  haven't  a  cent  to  my  name, 
and  as  I  search  the  future  I  don't  see  a  pros- 
pect of  any  except  I  give  up  the  University." 

"That  needn't  worry  you,  Priddy!" 

I  looked  at  my  room-mate  in  amazement. 
He  was  not  smiling.  In  fact,  he  was  looking 
very  seriously  at  me. 

"Not  worry  me?"  I  gasped.  "  That's  com- 
forting, to  be  sure!" 

"What  have  you  got  to  worry  about?"  he 
asked. 

"What  —  worry  about?"  I  stammered,  not 
falling  in  with  his  mood. 

:'Yes.     Tell  me!" 

"In  the  first  place,"  I  explained,  "you  know 
that  I  had  but  three  dollars  —  three  —  t-h-r-e-e, 

[69] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

three,   d-o-l-l-a-r-s,   dollars;  three  dollars  —  to 
begin  my  education  with." 

"Yes." 

"I  don't  think  I  told  you  that  I  shall  never 
expect  any  help  from  the  outside;  that  if  I  stay 
here  I  shall  have  to  rely  entirely  on  what  I  can 
earn  with  my  own  hands." 

"I  see." 

"Well!" 

"Well?" 

"Well!" 

"Well?" 

"Isn't  it  clear,  Thropper?" 

"Isn't  what  clear?" 

"The  predicament  I'm  in." 

"Predicament?" 

" Of  course ! "  I  retorted,  impatiently.  "What 
else  is  it  for  a  fellow  to  be  stranded  as  I  am? 
You  surely  wouldn't  call  it  a  blessing,  would 
you?" 

"I  might!" 

"What!" 

Then  Thropper,  without  another  word,  delib- 
erately turned  inside  out  each  pocket  that  he 
owned  and  deposited  in  my  hands  the  following 
items :  A  well-worn  ink  and  pencil  eraser,  a  foun- 
tain pen,  a  stub  of  a  Dixon's  indelible  pencil, 
some  blurred  pencil  notes,  a  half  dozen  tooth- 
picks, a  crumpled  letter,  a  bunch  of  keys,  a 
bachelor  button,  two  handkerchiefs,  and  fifteen 
cents  in  two  nickels  and  five  coppers. 

[70] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"There,"  he  sighed.  "That's  all.  There's 
not  a  penny  in  my  trunk.  The  money  repre- 
sents my  worldly  fortunes  —  until  I  go  out  and 
earn  more.  I,  too,  have  to  rely  upon  my  own 
efforts.  Shake,  Priddy!" 

The  big-hearted  fellow  reached  for  my  empty 
hand  and  gave  it  a  vigorous  shaking. 

"You're  not  bad  off!"  he  declared.  "Let 
me  tell  you  why.  You  see,"  he  went  on  to  ex- 
plain, "after  you've  got  in  the  swing  of  things 
here,  you  become  somewhat  of  a  social  or  eco- 
nomic philosopher.  You're  rich,  Priddy !"  He 
smiled  benevolently  on  me. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  demanded. 

"You're  English,  aren't  you?" 

"Of  course." 

"That  accounts  for  it,  probably." 

"Accounts  for  what?" 

"Your  high  and  exalted  estimate  put  on 
money  necessary  to  get  you  through  college. 
I  understand  that  across  the  water  it  is  only 
the  rich  and  the  noble  who  are  welcomed  to  the 
colleges;  that  the  mass  of  workers  have  come  to 
respect  education  accordingly.  At  least,  that 
is  the  idea  one  gets  through  the  books  and  mag- 
azine articles  which  have  to  do  with  English 
college  life.  Whether  it  is  true  or  not  is  another 
matter.  Anyway,  Priddy,  you've  got  to  under- 
stand that  things  are  different  in  America.  Our 
colleges  are  democratic  and  extremely  prac- 
tical. Now  take  yourself,  for  instance;  you 

[71] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

have  come  out  here  regarding  it  impossible  for 
you  to  move  hand  or  foot  towards  your  educa- 
tion without  money  in  your  pocket.  Things 
are  so  arranged  that  you  don't  need  to  give  your- 
self much  trouble  on  that  account.  You  say 
you've  got  no  money  and  that  you  ought  to  get 
away  from  here,  on  that  account.  That's  the 
way  thousands  of  plow  boys  and  machine  ten- 
ders are  arguing,  only  they  say,  'We  haven't 
any  money;  therefore  we've  no  chance  to  get 
to  college." 

"I  know  that's  so,"  I  interrupted. 

"You  see  this  arm,"  and  Thropper  made  a 
sledge-hammer  of  his  right  arm,  bringing  his 
clenched  fist  down  on  his  table.  "That  repre- 
sents my  endowment  of  good  health  and 
strength.  How  much  is  that  worth,  in  terms  of 
dollars  earned  in  a  year  during  spare  time, 
Priddy?" 

"Why  — I—" 

"Sixty-five  dollars  during  school  terms  last 
year,  outside  of  vacations:  sixty-five  dollars 
earned  at  odd  jobs  during  Saturdays  and  odd 
hours,"  he  said.  "All  the  spare  cash  I  was 
called  upon  to  spend.  Of  course  in  the  sum- 
mer, by  canvassing  stereoscopic  views,  I  cleared 
sixty-seven  more,  above  my  expenses.  That's 
what  the  arm  stands  for.  Its  strength  is  con- 
vertible into  cash  almost  any  day  that  I  care 
to  go  out  and  earn  it  —  keeping  on  with  my 
studies,  too,  of  course." 

[72] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"But  I'm  earning  my  board  by  waiting  on 
table,"  I  urged;  "that  does  not  touch  my  tui- 
tion and  room  rent,  Thropper." 

"Which  amounts  to  about  thirty  dollars  out- 
side of  board,"  he  laughed.  "You  aren't  worth 
much  if  you  can't  earn  that  in  a  year  and  keep 
on  with  your  studies,  Priddy.  I  think  you're 
lucky,  that's  what  I  think,  hi  earning  your 
board  so  easily.  That's  the  big  item!" 

"But  what  can  I  find  to  do?  I  can't  leave 
the  campus.  I  have  to  be  around  for  the  meal 
hours." 

Thropper  went  over  to  his  desk  and  secured 
a  brown-backed  account  book,  and  read  off  the 
following  list: 

"Stacking  books  in  the  library,  twelve  cents 
an  hour.  Wheeling  Professor  Dix's  invalid 
aunt  in  wheel  chair,  twelve  cents  an  hour  and 
dinner.  Scrubbing  floors  in  University  Hall, 
twelve  cents  an  hour.  Weeding  garden,  cutting 
sugar-cane,  thawing  frozen  gas  pipes,  grading 
lawn,  kneading  bread,  cleaning  black-boards, 
ringing  bell,  watchman,  running  washing- 
machines,  errands,  pruning  trees,  dusting  Pro- 
fessor Harvey's  insects ;  all  twelve  cents  an  hour, 
Priddy.  The  list  of  my  chores  for  last  year. 
Possibilities  for  you,  my  boy!" 

"Oh,  I  see!" 

"Feel  better,  now?" 

I  smiled  and  then  said,  feelingly,  to  my  room- 
mate: 

•      [73] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"Thropper,  you'd  be  worth  ten  dollars  an 
an  hour  in  a  hospital  bracing  up  discouraged 
financiers;  that  you  would!" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  pleased 
with  what  I  said.  "I've  been  up  against  it 
myself,  Priddy.  I  understand,  that's  all." 

"Have  been  up  against  it?"  I  gasped. 
"Thropper,  I  guess  you  should  put  it  in  the 
present  tense:  are  up  against  it.  Here  is  your 
fifteen  cents,  your  present  fortune.  What  are 
you  going  to  do  about  money?" 

"Oh,  me?"  He  felt  under  his  table  and 
brought  out  to  view  a  tin  lunch  box  made  to 
resemble  a  bundle  of  school  books.  "I'll  have 
that  filled  on  Saturday  morning  at  six  o'clock, 
put  on  these — "  he  rumbled  behind  his  clothes- 
screen  and  threw  a  pair  of  dirty  overalls  on  the 
floor  and  a  soft,  black  shirt  —  "  and  go  to  my 
regular  Saturday  job  in  the  glass  factory.  A 
dollar  and  fifty  for  the  day;  regular  as  the  week 
comes  around.  That's  the  way  I  take  care  of 
myself,  Priddy!" 

"But  when  I  work  for  the  University  I  don't 
get  cash,  do  I,  Thropper?" 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  it  goes  on  your  bill.  But  you 
won't  find  it  hard  to  get  along  without  money 
here,"  he  said,  "there  isn't  much  that  you  can 
buy,  outside  of  clothes  and  a  lecture  in  the  vil- 
lage once  in  a  while.  You'll  soon  become  accus- 
tomed to  getting  along  without  cash,  all  right." 

When  Saturday  morning  arrived,  it  was  a 
[74] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

distinct  surprise  to  hear  Thropper  moving  in 
the  room  first,  for  he  usually  had  droned  while 
I  prepared  for  the  day's  work.  I  opened  my 
eyes.  The  alarm  clock  on  the  table  told  me 
that  it  was  half  past  five.  I  watched  my  room- 
mate as  he  donned  his  working  clothes  and  put 
on  a  slouch  hat. 

"An  Englishman  would  call  you  a  *nawy,": 
I  smiled. 

"I  should  think  an  American  would  call  me 
a  tramp!"  he  replied.  "But  you  ought  to  see 
some  of  the  Bulgarians  I  have  to  work  with!" 
He  spread  out  his  hands  expressively  to  indicate 
that  whatever  the  Bulgarians  did  look  like,  he 
had  not  the  rhetoric  available  at  that  moment 
with  which  to  describe  them. 

There  came  a  knock  on  the  door  and  in 
response  to  Thropper's  cheery  "Come  in!" 
there  appeared  another  "tramp"  with  his  lunch 
box;  a  tall,  high-cheek-boned  Southerner,  named 
Tripp,  who  drawled, 

"Best  be  gettin'  deown,  Thropper!" 

So  with  a  good-bye,  Thropper  left  the  room, 
turning  to  tell  me  that  if  I  found  time,  I  might 
clean  up  the  room  —  in  his  absence. 

"Be  sure  and  shake  the  Turkish  rugs,"  he 
laughed,  pointing  to  the  patches  of  well-worn 
carpet  that  were  used  for  rugs.  "When  you 
shake  them  you'll  find  them  very  Turkish; 
they  smoke!" 

By  the  time  the  early  lunch  for  the  workers 
[75] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

had  ended,  there  were  seven  "tramps"  who 
went  to  the  glass  factory  with  Thropper.  In- 
cluded among  them  were  two  students,  whom, 
judged  by  their  excellent  dress  and  their  social 
graces  on  the  campus,  I  had  thought  were  none 
other  than  the  sons  of  wealthy  parents. 

When  the  Bible  verses  had  been  given  at  the 
tables  and  after  the  last  slice  of  fried  potato 
had  been  scraped  out  of  the  dish,  the  students 
hurried  from  the  room  and  disposed  themselves 
for  work. 

As  I  left  the  dining-hall,  I  saw  young  women 
with  duster  caps  on  their  heads,  leaning  out  of 
dormitory  windows  shaking  rugs;  others  I  found 
hurrying  down  to  other  dormitories  with  bundles 
of  laundry.  When  I  arrived  in  Pungo  Hall, 
I  was  greeted  with  the  thumping  of  brushes, 
the  clatter  of  furniture,  and  the  shouts  of  the 
men  as  they  called  to  one  another  above  the 
clouds  of  dust  that  were  being  hurled  from 
the  rooms  into  the  hallway. 

A  knock  came  on  my  door  as  I  started  to 
sweep  the  room,  and  Jason,  the  poet,  poking  his 
long  neck  around  the  corner  of  the  door-post, 
asked  in  the  most  concerned  way  imaginable, 

"Brother  Priddy,  is  the  kerosene  can  here?" 

"Why  —  no,  I  haven't  seen  it.  What  do 
you  do  with  kerosene?  Don't  you  burn  gas?" 

Jason  blushed,  and  then  replied, 

"Oh  —  we  —  er  —  use  the  kerosene  for 
beds!" 

[76] 


JASON,  THE  POET,  LOOKED  IN 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"Beds?" 

"To  subdue  those  fiery  creatures  who  dom- 
icile in  beds!"  he  affirmed. 

"Oh,  bugs!"  I  blurted  with  such  roughness 
that  it  must  have  made  his  sensitive  and  poetic 
nerves  clang. 

At  eight  o'clock  a  group  of  students,  with 
clean  collars  and  well-pressed  clothes,  came  down 
from  the  University  building,  each  carrying  an 
ironing-board,  to  be  sold  in  some  nearby  town. 
This  ironing-board  was  entirely  unlike  every 
other  ironing-board  invented  by  man  or  woman. 
It  was  the  product  of  the  fertile  and  practical 
mind  of  our  mathematical  professor;  its  chief 
virtues  being,  as  described  in  the  prospectus, 
that  "it  stands  up  like  a  soldier,  kneels  down 
like  a  camel,  and  folds  up  like  a  jack-knife!" 
With  all  its  novelty,  it  was  extremely  practical 
and,  the  agents  reported,  sold  well.  A  large 
number  of  useful  citizens  are  out  in  the  ser- 
viceable centres  of  life,  who,  if  they  ever  choose 
a  coat  of  arms  will  have  to  adorn  their  shield 
with  an  ironing-board — "rampant,"  for  to  it 
they  owe  much  of  the  financial  lubrication  which 
smoothed  their  passage  through  the  school. 

Hurrying  after  the  same  train  were  three 
young  women,  each  armed  with  a  book,  on  their 
way  to  make  fifty  per  cent  from  literary  house- 
holders. At  different  hours  of  the  morning  other 
students  went  to  the  village  where  every  sort 
of  task  from  house-cleaning  to  raking  up  dead 

[77] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

gardens  was  undertaken.  Evangelical  Univer- 
sity was  at  work. 

The  head-waiter,  Brock,  came  into  the  room 
as  I  was  cleaning  it  and  said: 

"Priddy,  has  anyone  been  in  after  the  tub?" 

"The  tub?" 

"Yes,  and  the  rubbing  board!" 

"I  didn't  know  those  things  were  here." 

"Your  roommate  and  I  have  a  whole  laundry 
set  on  shares.  Look  in  my  room  and  you'll 
see  the  irons;  the  flat-irons." 

"No,  the  tub  and  the  board  are  not  here,"  I 
reported,  after  a  search. 

The  tall  German  went  into  the  hall,  raised 
his  voice  in  a  great,  resounding  shout: 

"The  wash  tub!    Who  has  it?" 

A  door  at  the  end  of  the  hallway  opened  and 
a  voice  replied: 

"Just  rinsing  out  my  shirt,  Brock.  Have  it 
in  a  jiffy!" 

A  few  minutes  later  Brock  called  to  me  from 
his  room.  When  I  presented  myself  before 
him,  I  discovered  him  with  his  sleeves  rolled 
up,  busily  engaged  in  pouring  hot  water  from  a 
kettle  over  some  shirts  and  handkerchiefs. 

"Any  white  things  of  yours,  handkerchiefs 
or  shirts,  Priddy,"  he  announced,  "might  just 
as  well  go  in  with  mine." 

So  we  shared  the  wash  that  morning.  After 
they  had  been  rinsed,  I  carried  them  to  the  rear 
of  the  building  and  hung  them  on  a  double 

[78] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

wire  line  where  the  gas-laden  air  from  the  sheep- 
pastures  hummed  through  them  and  the  sun 
burned  them  dry  in  an  hour. 

That  same  afternoon,  after  having  expressed 
to  Brock  my  desire  for  extra  work  in  the  hours 
when  I  was  not  on  duty  in  the  dining-hall,  I 
found  myself  standing  over  an  immense  caul- 
dron under  which  blazed  a  hot  camp-fire.  In 
the  cauldron  were  bushels  of  tomatoes  and 
many  pounds  of  sugar.  With  a  long  ladle  I 
stirred  the  concoction  until  nine  o'clock  that 
night,  save  for  the  interruption  of  supper,  and 
by  that  time  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  it 
turn  from  a  vivid  pink  to  a  dark  red  until  it 
turned  into  a  tarty,  pasty  preserve,  not  unlike 
strawberry  damson  in  appearance.  That  night 
there  Went  on  the  University  records,  against 
my  name,  "To  seven  hours'  labor,  at  12  cents, 
.84."  I  had  paid  that  much,  that  week,  towards 
my  tuition. 


[79] 


Chapter  VI L  An  Academic  Ride 
in  Five  Carriages  at  Once.  A 
Business  Appeal  Mixed  in  with 
the  Order  of  Creation.  Is  it  Best 
for  a  Man  to  Marry  his  First 
Love.  A  Sleuth-Dean.  A  Queen's 
Birthday  Supper  with  an  Athletic 
Conclusion.  Jerry  Birch  Stands 
up  for  Albion.  How  we  'Tamed 
him 

THE   terror   that   at   first   had   been 
imposed    upon    me    by    the    sense 
of  my  own  ignorance,  a  terror  which 
had  led  me  to  think  that  at  twenty 
years   of   age   no   ambitious   youth 
could  at  all  fit  into  the  educational  scheme, 
died  down  quite  rapidly  at  Evangelical  Uni- 

[801 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

versity.  The  curriculum  there  was  no  arbi- 
trary imposition,  as  it  is  so  commonly  in  the 
Four-Hundred-Dollar-a-Year  University,  into 
which  a  student  must  fit  himself  willy-nilly, 
and  to  which  he  must  either  conform  or  not 
approach.  The  Evangelical  University  curric- 
ulum was  made  to  bend  to  the  needs  of  an 
illiterate  man  of  forty  and  to  the  advanced 
demands  of  the  graduate  who  sought  his  doc- 
torate in  Philosophy.  Its  principle  was  that 
of  intellectual  service  to  fit  the  needs  of  all 
who  come  whether  poorly  fitted,  old  or  poor. 
Estes,  "Pa"  Borden,  myself  and  many  others, 
who  certainly  would  not  have  had  the 
chance  for  inspiration  offered  us  in  hundreds 
of  dignified  schools,  especially  on  such  terms, 
were  given  our  life-time's  chance  in  Evangelical 
University. 

But  it  must  have  looked  chaotic,  intellectu- 
ally riotous,  to  a  dignified  dean  of  a  classic 
university,  and,  no  doubt,  he  would  have  had 
much  in  criticism  of  the  university  to  offer, 
from  his  proper  angle,  after  looking  on  the 
manner  in  which  the  students  mixed  their 
courses. 

In  my  first  term  I  spread  myself  through  the 
common  school,  the  business,  the  college  pre- 
paratory, the  collegiate,  and  the  theological 
divisions  of  the  University!  It  was  akin  to 
taking  an  academic  ride  in  five  carriages  at 
once!  When  the  professor  dismissed  me  from 

[81] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

the  college  class  in  logic  I  went  immediately 
into  the  basement,  where  I  joined  the  grammar 
class,  and  from  the  grammar  class  I  went  to 
the  theological  department  and  recited  on 
Church  History.  From  that  class  I  went  into 
the  scientific  department  and  was  heard  in 
zoology,  and  from  zoology  I  found  my  way  in 
the  business  department  where  I  practised  on 
the  typewriter. 

Though  I  came  before  this  intellectual  priv- 
ilege with  a  hungry  mind,  yet,  threaded  through- 
out it  all  were  the  complaints  of  the  professors 
in  regard  to  the  limitations  under  which  they 
worked.  The  professor  of  science  constantly 
unfolded  to  us,  who  met  him  in  zoology,  a 
pet  dream  of  his  which  comprehended  a  future 
benefactor  who  should  increase  the  number  of 
specimens  in  the  museum.  The  English  pro- 
fessor was  embarrassed  frequently  by  the  inade- 
quacy of  the  library.  In  our  Bible  classes,  the 
President  would  take  us  into  his  confidence, 
the  day  after  a  faculty  meeting,  and  descant  upon 
the  hardship,  the  embarrassing,  financial  hard- 
ship, of  meeting  the  expenses  of  the  school. 
There  was  no  lack  of  dignity  to  this  proceeding, 
for  each  one  of  us  felt  under  obligations  to  the 
University,  knowing  well  enough  that  what- 
ever financial  sacrifices  the  faculty  underwent, 
were  sacrifices  made  in  order  that  we  might 
receive  an  education.  So  the  President  was 
within  the  bounds  of  propriety  and  discipline 

[82] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

when  he  concluded  his  report  with  his  custom- 
ary: "And  so,  young  ladies  and  gentlemen,  if 
you  are  acquainted  with  any  business  men  or 
wealthy  person  who  might  be  made  generous 
by  our  worthy  appeal,  kindly  hand  me  their 
names  and  addresses  after  class.  Mr.  Stanton, 
you  will  please  describe  the  order  of  creation 
as  given  in  the  first  book  of  Moses!" 

But  it  was  not  long  before  I  had  to  realize 
that  I  had  put  myself  under  an  exacting  dis- 
cipline by  coming  to  Evangelical  University. 
We  had  a  dean  who  in  effectiveness  and  as  a 
sleuth  would  have  been  the  dean  of  deans  had 
an  international  society  of  them  existed.  The 
presence  of  young  men  and  women  on  the 
campus  rendered  the  Dean's  duties  doubly 
hard.  The  rules  were  rules  of  a  Mede.  His 
surveillance  was  that  of  a  man  who  felt  an  aus- 
tere obligation  to  over  a  hundred  anxious 
parents.  No  one,  except  by  special  permission, 
could  be  out  of  his  room  after  half-past  seven 
in  the  evening,  save  on  society  nights  or  on  Sun- 
days. For  the  enforcement  of  this  rule,  the 
Dean  depended  upon  the  reports  of  student 
monitors,  but  mainly  upon  his  own  vigilance. 
Every  dormitory  was  always  in  danger  of  a 
visit  from  the  Dean,  and  as  the  students  in  the 
dormitories  were  prevailingly  men  and  women 
considerably  beyond  their  'teens,  there  was 
no  inconsiderable  disobedience  of  this  rule;  it 
made  us  feel  too  much  like  little  children  who 

[83] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

are  put  to  bed  while  the  daylight  lingers  on  the 
earth.  I  soon  had  a  taste  of  the  common 
experience.  One  evening  three  students  met 
with  Thropper  and  me  to  indulge  in  a  heated 
and  loud  discussion  on  the  question:  "That  it 
is  best  for  a  man  to  marry  his  first  love!"  We 
started  it  at  half-past  six  and  once  on  the  line 
of  our  pros  and  cons  all  sense  of  time  and 
existence  went  out  of  mind.  We  heard  not 
the  inrush  of  students  as  the  last  bell  rang,  nor 
heeded  the  brooding  silence  that  had  come  over 
the  campus.  We  lived  only  in  our  arguments 
on  that  "love"  issue,  and  Thropper  was  in  the 
midst  of  a  very  final  story  of  first  love  coming 
out  happily  when  tested  by  marriage,  when 
three  knocks  were  heard  on  our  wall,  given  by 
the  student  in  the  next  room:  That  was  the  sig- 
nal that  the  Dean  was  stirring.  Instantly  the 
window  was  opened,  our  three  visitors  leaped 
out,  and  a  few  seconds  later,  when  the  Dean 
knocked  on  the  door,  Thropper  met  him  inno- 
cently with  the  proposal,  "Have  a  chair,  sir?" 
and  the  Dean,  glancing  about  merely  said,  with 
a  pleasant  smile,  "I  just  thought  I'd  look  in, 
that's  all."  When  he  left,  we  knew  that  when 
he  went  to  the  rooms  of  our  three  friends,  up- 
stairs, he  would  find  them  in  their  shirtsleeves 
poring  over  their  books.  I  often  saw  him  in 
the  twilight  or  under  the  glow  of  lighted  wrin- 
dows,  this  Dean  performing  his  duty  which,  to 
a  man  of  his  fine,  academic  temper,  must  have 

[84] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

been  so  incompatible:  a  tall,  ungeared,  gaunt- 
faced,  tight-lipped  man,  stooped  and  stealthy, 
searching  the  campus  with  his  glinting  eyes, 
squaring  his  jaws  as  he  approached  windows 
where  law-breakers  were  gathered,  post-haste 
after  delinquents! 

I  chanced  to  be  one  among  a  half  dozen  stout 
English  hearts ;  at  least  they  were  English  hearts 
when  somebody  proposed  that  it  might  be  a 
patriotic  act  for  us  to  celebrate,  in  a  fitting, 
English  manner,  the  birthday  of  Queen  Vic- 
toria. On  account  of  the  un-American  aspect 
of  the  proposed  celebration  it  was  deemed  inju- 
dicious to  ask  the  consent  of  the  Dean,  for  we 
felt  sure  he  would  prohibit  it.  We  were  deter- 
mined, however,  to  conduct  a  celebration  that 
would  be  quiet,  dignified,  and  memorable, 
without  having  in  it  any  semblance  of  disorder. 
We  also  resolved  to  hold  it  on  a  Saturday  even- 
ing, when  the  rules  were  not  so  strictly  upheld. 
To  this  end,  then,  we  persuaded  the  master  of 
the  dining-hall,  who  was  also  chef  and  baker, 
to  fall  into  our  scheme,  though  he  was  a  loyal 
American.  We  engaged  him  to  fry  the  steaks, 
and  also  gave  him  an  English  recipe  for  chipped 
potatoes. 

On  the  night  of  the  celebration  we  met  in  a 
student's  room  in  the  ell  of  Pungo  Hall,  in  the 
rear:  a  quiet,  isolated  room  which  also  had  the 
double  virtue  of  being  a  wash-room  with  a 
stove  in  it !  Over  this  the  chef  worked,  quietly. 

[851 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

We  blanketed  the  windows  so  that  no  one  could 
peep  on  the  scene.  The  table  was  spread  and 
the  seats  occupied.  Before  us,  on  a  white  plat- 
ter and  in  white  dishes,  were  the  steaks  and  the 
chips,  surrounded  by  coffee,  cake,  and  candy. 
After  the  meal,  the  chairman  proposed  speeches 
which  had  for  their  theme  the  greatness,  the 
majesty,  and  the  high  repute  of  the  "glorious 
Queen."  At  the  conclusion  of  these  speeches, 
we  tried  to  sing  a  reminiscent  snatch  of  "Rule 
Britannia,"  but  had,  finally,  to  compromise  on 
"God  Save  the  Queen."  The  college  bell  had 
struck  eleven  when  one  of  the  party  proposed 
that  it  might  waken  us  up  if  we  went  out  on 
the  campus  and  exercised  ourselves  by  holding 
a  jumping  contest.  On  account  of  the  lavish- 
ness  of  the  feast  and  the  heartiness  with  which 
we  had  partaken,  we  were  ready  to  fall  in  with 
this  proposal. 

In  front  of  a  little  cottage  in  which  a  few  stu- 
dents had  double  rooms,  we  leaped  and  jumped 
very  quietly  for  some  minutes,  speaking  in  whis- 
pers, for  it  was  nearly  midnight,  on  the  verge  of 
the  Sabbath.  But  suddenly  we  were  startled  by 
a  loud  voice  calling  from  one  of  the  windows,  "  I 
have  your  names!"  The  heartless  monitor  had 
spied  on  us.  We  were  undone.  Heartlessly, 
guiltily,  we  went  back  to  our  rooms.  The  dam- 
age had  been  done.  We  had  been  caught  break- 
ing the  dread  laws  of  the  University.  Nothing 
could  keep  us  from  the  wrath  of  the  Dean. 

[86] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

We  indulged  in  our  prayers  and  our  Bible 
study  and  our  church  attendance  the  following 
day  with  little  enthusiasm,  for  when  we  chanced 
to  meet  one  another  we  asked  the  same  ques- 
tion, over  and  over,  "What  will  he  say?"  For 
we  had  our  heart  in  it.  We  were  not  flagrant 
despisers  of  order.  We  cared  for  the  respect  of 
our  Dean. 

On  Monday  morning  we  assembled  in  chapel 
for  the  usual  morning  service.  The  Dean  led 
the  service.  We  were  expecting  that  during 
the  notices  he  would  say,  reading  from  his 
book,  "I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Priddy  and  Mr.  this 
and  Mr.  that,"  and  so  on  through  the  list  of 
Englishmen,  "at  the  conclusion  of  chapel." 
But  not  so.  In  place  of  the  customary  sermon 
of  ten  minutes,  he  delivered  a  very  Patrick- 
Henryish  philippic  against  certain  unnamed 
students  who  had  so  far  forgotten  themselves  as 
not  only  to  be  unpatriotic  towards  their  adopted 
country,  and  had  not  only  demeaned  themselves 
by  an  unlawful  "revelry,"  but  had  even  been 
indulging  in  sports  at  midnight,  on  the  verge  of 
the  Sabbath,  and  thereby  rendered  themselves 
unfit  to  give  God  the  highest,  most  efficient 
service  on  the  holy  day.  The  unexpectedness 
of  it,  the  fierceness  of  it,  the  lurid  interpreta- 
tions put  on  our  innocent  feast,  its  coloring  into 
a  "  night  revel,"  and  the  charge  of  impiety, 
unnerved  me.  I  sat  riveted  to  my  chair,  in 
a  cold  sweat.  I  felt  as  must  a  murderer  in 

[87] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

his  sober  moments  when  he  realizes  to  the  full 
the  enormity  of  his  deed.  The  Dean  con- 
cluded his  philippic,  during  which  he  had  not 
mentioned  a  name,  by  this  oracular  notice: 

"I  want  each  one  of  those  revelers  to  meet 
me  after  chapel,  in  my  office." 

All  eyes  were  sympathetic  towards  the  Eng- 
lishmen as  we  gathered  at  the  Dean's  door.  In 
his  sanctuary  he  further  explained  to  us  the 
extent  of  our  crime,  making  it,  to  the  mind  of 
Jerry  Birch,  a  stubby,  vigorous-minded  Briton, 
treason.  Jerry  flared  forth  in  an  attempt  to 
prove  to  the  Dean  that  he  (the  Dean)  was  an 
enemy  to  the  Queen,  and  that  an  appeal  might 
properly  be  made  to  the  British  ambassador, 
and  —  but  here  we  cautioned  Jerry  to  stop. 
We  finally  tamed  him  into  quietness,  and  the 
Dean  dismissed  us  with  the  warning  to  show 
ourselves  peace-respecting  Americans  from 
then  on. 


[88] 


Chapter  VIIL  The  Doctrinal 
"Temper  of  the  University  and 
Thropper^s  Talk  about  it.  Intro- 
duces  the  Select  Board  of  the  Phar- 
isees. Prayer- Meeting  Monopoly 
Combated  by  Independents.  Jason 
on  my  'Track  and  How  it  Came  out 

EVANGELICAL     UNIVERSITY     was 
founded  by  a  minister  of  intense  reli- 
gious convictions  and  its  policy  was 
directed  by  a  Board  composed  of  men 
characterized  by  religious  zeal.     The 
University  stood  committed,  also,  to  the  Chris- 
tianization  as  well  as  to  the  education  of  its 
students.     In  its  advertisements,  special  empha- 
sis was  laid  on  "annual  revivals,"  "personal, 
religious  work  of  students,"  and  other  evidences 
of  a  flourishing  religious  atmosphere. 

Now  in  this,  Evangelical  University  stood  in 
line  with  hundreds  of  efficient  institutions,  but 
it  went  a  step  farther,  and  not  only  made  its 

[89] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

boast  in  regard  to  its  Christian  background, 
but  it  also  gained  repute  as  the  exponent  of  a 
particular,  very  sectarian,  very  dogmatic,  and 
intense  doctrine;  namely,  that  not  until  a  par- 
ticular emotional  experience  had  been  secured 
was  a  Christian  a  substantial  and  serviceable 
Christian.  ;'The  triple-birth  doctrine,"  as 
Thropper  christened  it,  "being  natural  birth, 
spiritual  birth,  and  extra-spiritual  birth." 

There  were  several  students  in  the  Univer- 
sity who  were  there  merely  for  its  intellectual 
privileges  and  who  did  not  believe  in  this  intense 
doctrine  of  "the  triple-birth." 

Thropper  said  to  me,  one  night,  when  we 
were  discussing  this  matter: 

"Priddy,  I'll  guarantee  that  out  of  all  the  stu- 
dents here,  you  will  not  find  more  than  five  in 
all  that  do  not  profess  to  have  a  religious  experi- 
ence. Now  that  ought  to  satisfy  the  Univer- 
sity, but  it  won't.  That  isn't  enough.  Until 
every  one  believes  heart  and  soul  in  its  doc- 
trine of  the  *  triple-birth,'  and  gets  emotional- 
ized, the  whole  place  will  be  turned  upside 
down.  Now  I  have  always  thought  myself  a 
religious  fellow.  I  belong  to  the  church.  I  am 
trying  to  live  a  Christian  life.  I  have  a  Chris- 
tian home  in  which  I  have  always  been  trained 
piously  and  well.  But  they  have  given  me  no 
rest  since  I  came  here.  They  pray  for  me  every 
year  and  struggle  with  me,  and  quibble  about  me, 
all  in  order  to  get  me  to  go  through  the  '  triple- 

[90] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

birth,'  which  may  be  all  right  for  them,  but  does 
not  appeal  to  me.  Yet,  because  I  don't  go  over 
to  their  way  of  thinking,  they  can't  regard  me 
as  a  religious  man.  I'm  not  the  only  one, 
either.  There  are  others  whom  they  bother 
in  the  same  way.  If  we  were  out  and  out 
heathen,  they  couldn't  be  more  alarmed  over 
us.  If  we  were  unsocial  atheists  and  immoral 
beings,  their  enthusiasm  and  concern  would  be 
worth  while,  but  when  some  of  us  are  to  be 
preachers  and  respect  everything  that  is  true 
and  helpful  and  yet  have  to  be  prayed  for  in 
public  and  hounded  from  pillar  to  post  by  them, 
why-" 

"Who  do  you  mean  by  'they'  and  'them/ 
Thropper?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  certain  of  the  students  who  are  enthu- 
siasts on  the  'triple-birth'  doctrine,"  he  replied. 
"They  mean  well  enough,  and  are  good  folks, 
but  I  can't  agree  with  their  peculiar  doctrines  and 
I  tell  them  so,  right  out." 

"  But  a  few  students  can't  carry  off  the  whole 
situation,  Thropper." 

"Can't,  eh?  Well,  you  see,  as  this  is  the 
particular  doctrine  for  which  the  University 
officially  stands,  the  few  aggressive  students 
who  preach  the  idea  are  really  in  the  majority. 
There's  a  little  set  of  them,  led  by  Jason,  the 
Poet,  who  roam  through  the  life  of  this  Univer- 
sity like  a  little  group  of  heretic  hunters  in  some 
medieval  community,  with  all  power  and 

[911 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

authority  back  of  them."  He  sighed,  deeply. 
'They  make  life  miserable  for  many,"  he 
said. 

I  laughed  at  him. 

"Why,  Thropper,  don't  take  it  to  heart  so; 
just  go  along  your  own  way,  tolerantly,  know- 
ing that  if  some  of  us  can't  actually  agree,  we 
can  respect  one  another's  differences  —  if  they're 
not  vicious." 

He  regarded  me  as  if  I  had  lost  my  wit. 

"That  sounds  nice,  that  does,  Priddy,  and  it 
is  good  sense,  too,  but  it's  wasted  here,  old  boy. 
You  and  I  and  some  others  may  find  consola- 
tion in  it,  but  Jason  and  his  Board  of  Phari- 
sees would  have  their  tongues  cut  out  and  their 
right  hands  severed  before  they  would  rest  easy 
with  us  differing  from  them,  standing  outside 
their  particular  doctrines.  You  don't  know 
Jason.  Besides,  wait  till  you  have  been  here  a 
year  and  then  you  will  see  so  many  things 
take  place  under  the  direction  of  the  Univer- 
sity that  it  will  be  impossible  for  you  not  to 
know  that  you  are  persona  grata  here  only  when 
you  swing  over  to  a  full  acceptance  of  the  doc- 
trine of  the  '  triple-birth ' :  there'll  be  the  annual 
revival  when  a  whole,  intense  week  will  be 
devoted  to  hardly  anything  else  but  a  propa- 
ganda of  that  doctrine.  There  will  come  the 
weekly  prayer-meetings,  the  talks  from  visit- 
ing exponents  of  the  doctrine;  oh,  they  won't 
let  you  rest  easy  in  your  differences,  Priddy. 

[92] 


Wait  till  Jason  and  his  crowd  get  on  your 
track!" 

"You  talk  as  if  they  were  going  to  be  the  worst 
sort  of  meddlers,  Thropper." 

"Didn't  you  hear  me  call  them  the  Board  of 
the  Pharisees?  Did  you  think  I  didn't  mean 
that  for  a  good  description,  Priddy?  Well, 
what  were  Pharisees  always  doing?  Meddling. 
Telling  the  people  to  be  holy  by  washing  the 
dinner  plates  thus  and  so;  telling  the  people 
that  God  was  found  by  wearing  this  and  that. 
Well,  that's  what  Jason  and  his  crowd  are 
busy  doing  about  here,  through  the  year.  The 
sight  of  a  gold  ring  on  my  finger  fairly  dilated 
the  nostrils  of  one  of  them;  he  set  about  pray- 
ing for  me  and  urging  me  day  after  day  to  stop 
wearing  it  because  it  was  the  symbol  of  *  carnal 
pride,'  and  he  quoted  ever  so  much  Scripture, 
too." 

After  that  I  noted  with  especial  interest  the 
monopoly  exercised  by  Jason  and  a  small  num- 
ber of  the  students  —  male  and  female  —  over 
the  multitude  of  religious  meetings  that  em- 
broidered the  week  of  study.  The  two  noon 
prayer-meetings,  the  after-supper  services,  the 
Thursday  evening  university  service,  the  many 
missionary  meetings,  the  Bible  study  classes, 
the  Sunday  morning  "search"  services:  in  all 
these  the  tone  was  given  by  the  fervid  and  dog- 
matic Jason  and  his  followers.  Wherever  a 
religious  interest  of  any  sort  chanced  to  be 

[931 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

organized,  one  was  certain  to  find  on  its  list  of 
officers  some  representative  of  Jason,  the  Poet. 
Thropper  and  I,  and  several  others  among  the 
students,  formed  "independent"  circles  for 
prayer  and  Bible  study,  where  we  could,  for 
once  a  week,  at  least,  have  our  own,  special 
beliefs  prevail. 

One  November  morning,  as  I  was  leaving  the 
dining-hall,  Jason  met  me  at  the  door. 

"I  should  like  to  have  a  word  with  you, 
Brother  Priddy,"  he  announced. 

"Certainly,"  I  replied. 

"I  have  been  considerably  burdened  for  you, 
lately,  Brother  Priddy." 

"Eh?" 

"You  have  been  the  subject  of  my  prayers." 

"How  is  that?" 

"Because  I  think,  though  you  may  not  real- 
ize it,  that  Satan  is  trying  to  lead  you  astray," 
he  answered,  solemnly. 

"That's  interesting,  I'm  sure." 

"It's  terrible!"  he  half  shuddered. 

"But  —  er  —  what  especial  act  of  mine, 
Jason,  has  brought  out  this  —  er  —  burden  for 
me?" 

"Carnal  pride!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Pride?"  I  gasped.  "I  didn't  think  I  had 
anything  or  had  done  anything  to  be  proud  over 
—  that  I  know  of." 

"I  thought  you  did  not  see  it,"  he  announced; 
"that  is  the  deceitfulness  of  sin,  it  blinds  us. 

[94] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

That  is  why  I  came  to  you  —  to  warn,  you 
understand." 

"Then  you  will  relieve  the  tension  I  am  suffer- 
ing from  at  this  minute,"  I  retorted,  "by  tell- 
ing me  just  what  it  is  to  which  I  am  blind,  and 
which  is  sinful.  I  am  sure  I  stand  ready  to 
renounce  anything  that  is  liable  to  stand 
between  me  and  God,  Jason." 

His  severe,  but  intensely  spiritualized  fea- 
tures relaxed  at  that  declaration.  He  nodded 
his  head  and  rubbed  his  pale  hands. 

"I  am  glad  that  you  are  open  to  the  truth, 
Brother  Priddy,"  he  crooned,  with  satisfaction. 
"I  have  especial  reference  to  that  watch-chain 
of  yours  and  to  that  scarf-pin." 

"What!" 

"That  and  that,"  he  reiterated,  pointing  first 
to  my  watch-chain  and  then  to  my  scarf-pin. 

"Nonsense,"  I  exclaimed.  "What  in  the 
world  are  you  making  this  bother  over?" 

"That  watch-chain  and  the  pin  are  orna- 
ments and  personal  adornments,  not  neces- 
sary to  the  person.  They  are  expressions  of 
pride  which  lies  in  the  heart  to  corrupt  it. 
Therefore  you  will  never  find  peace  with  God 
until  you  have  discarded  them." 

"Those  things  expressions  of  pride?"  I 
gasped,  "why,  that  chain  is  gold-plated  and 
didn't  cost  more  than  a  dollar  and  a  half,  and  as 
for  the  tie-pin!"  I  laughed.  "Well,  I  paid 
ten  cents  for  it,  opals  and  all,  in  a  Five  and  Ten 

[95] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

Cent  Store,  Jason.    Not  much  to  grow  proud 


over." 


"It  is  not  the  price,  Brother  Priddy,  but  the 
principle." 

"But  I  swear  to  you,  Jason,  that  I  don't 
give  those  things  a  thought." 

"No,  granting  that  they  don't  hurt  you," 
went  on  Jason,  persistently,  "they  are  liable 
to  lead  others  into  pride.  It  is  the  weak  brother 
you  must  think  of." 

"I  don't  think  there's  much  danger  of  others 
finding  much  to  emulate  in  my  jewelry  or  dress," 
I  answered.  "I  do  recognize  the  force  of  what 
you  have  to  say  about  the  weak  brother,  Jason, 
and  if,  for  a  minute,  I  imagined  I  was  doing  any- 
thing or  wearing  anything  that  would  hurt  the 
life  of  another  in  any  appreciable  degree,  why 
I'd  renounce  it  quickly  enough,  you  can  wager!" 

"I  never  indulge  in  wagers,"  protested  the 
literalist,  "it  is  ungodly.  I  still  persist  in  ask- 
ing you  to  give  up  that  jewelry  on  the  ground 
that  in  all  things  we  should  walk  soberly,  as 
the  Bible  enjoins." 

"Well,  I'll  think  it  over,  Jason,"  I  said,  walk- 
ing hurriedly  away. 

When  Thropper  returned  from  his  trigonom- 
etry, I  recounted  my  experience  with  Jason. 

"Well,  your  days  of  quietness  are  gone  now, 
Priddy,"  he  declared.  :' You've  got  a  Phari- 
see on  your  trail  who  will  keep  it  until  your 
days  are  made  miserable." 

[961 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"But  why  doesn't  he  cut  off  his  beautiful 
curls  and  be  consistent?"  I  protested.  "Why 
doesn't  he  throw  off  that  peculiar  vest  and  that 
military  coat?  He'd  be  consistent  if  he  did! 
Talk  about  offending  the  weak  brother!  If  a 
dude  wouldn't  be  jealous  of  those  finely  culti- 
vated curls,  I  don't  know  a  dude.  I'll  wager 
Jason  is  always  looking  in  the  glass,  at  him- 
self!" 

"Oh,"  smiled  my  roommate,  "you  just  tell 
him  about  his  coat  and  his  curls  and  he'll  have 
his  explanation  ready.  Those  curls  are  sent 
by  the  Lord.  As  for  his  coat  and  vest;  they 
are  simple,  without  the  fancy  incidents  common 
to  our  coats !  Don't  try  to  beat  him  in  a  quibble, 
Priddy.  He's  got  you  before  you  start.  Can 
you  quote  over  half  the  Bible  word  for  word 
without  once  looking  at  it?" 

"No-o!" 

"Jason  can!  Are  you  able  to  read  it  in 
Hebrew  and  in  Greek?" 

"No-o-o!" 

"Jason  is!  He's  got  you  when  it  comes  to 
Biblical  quotation  and  can  fit  a  passage  even 
to  so  common  an  act  as  eating  a  dish  of  creamed 
toast!" 

"But  I  shan't  give  in  to  him  —  that  is, 
unless  I  really  see  the  force  of  his  arguments, 
Thropper." 

"Oh,"  smiled  Thropper,  "he'll  give  you  force- 
ful arguments  enough,  that's  the  hang  of  the 

[97] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

fellow.  He  knows  so  much !  I  tell  you,  Priddy, 
when  you  employ  logic,  biblical  lore,  and  a  fan- 
atical sincerity  in  trying  to  persuade  an  inno- 
cent little  greenhorn  like  you  —  to  give  up  a 
watch-chain  and  a  tie-pin,  why,  the  greenhorn 
is  bound  to  go  under!" 

"We'll  see!"  I  declared,  as  the  conclusion  of 
the  subject. 

The  next  day,  Jason  found  me  in  a  corner  of 
the  library  busy  with  my  Latin.  Without  a 
word  he  edged  over  to  me,  pulled  a  little  black 
book  from  his  pocket,  opened  it  at  a  marked 
place,  fixed  it  on  the  chair  handle  before  me, 
indicated  the  marked  passage  with  one  of  his 
long,  white  fingers  and  left  me  to  myself.  I 
put  aside  my  Latin  and  investigated. 

The  book  was  the  writing  of  John  Wesley, 
and  the  place  marked  was  a  passage  in  a  ser- 
mon on  "The  Wearing  of  Ornaments"  or  some 
such  theme.  In  any  case,  that  was  the  subject 
treated  in  the  marked  passage.  It  was  a  reit- 
eration of  the  arguments  Jason  had  advanced, 
but  coming  from  so  noted  and  often  quoted  an 
authority  as  the  founder  of  the  Methodists, 
it  considerably  sobered  my  impressionable 
senses.  I  had  no  sooner  closed  the  book,  than 
out  of  the  unseen  the  Poet  flitted  to  my  side, 
and  with  a  whispered,  "Forceful,  isn't  it?"  Jason 
took  up  the  book  and  returned  to  his  study. 

A  day  or  two  later  he  brought  into  the  dining- 
hall  a  little  green  bound  book,  printed  on  cheap 

[98] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

paper  and  entitled,  "The  Victory  of  Selina 
Bostwick  —  Evangelist."  As  he  handed  it  to 
me,  Jason  said, 

"  Sister  Bostwick  is  well  known  to  me.  I  have 
sung  for  her  in  tent  meetings,  near  Chicago. 
She  is  a  saint  of  God.  I  want  you  to  read  the 
place  I  have  marked,  if  you  cannot  find  time  to 
go  through  the  whole  book." 

In  the  privacy  of  my  room,  when  Thropper 
chanced  not  to  be  around  —  for  I  did  not  want 
him  to  see  me  reading  Jason's  book  —  I  read 
the  extract.  It  recounted,  in  a  very  rambling 
manner,  the  "third-birth"  of  Miss  Bostwick — 
who,  by  the  way,  had  been  so  inconsiderable  a 
person  as  a  seamstress  who  exhorted  in  revival 
services.  The  tale  went  on  to  show  how,  as  a 
young  girl,  Selina  had  been  especially  addicted 
to  wearing  gaudy  jewelry :  stone-tipped  hat-pins, 
glass  ornamented  combs,  two  rings,  one  with  a 
cluster  of  imitation  rubies,  the  other  a  plain 
band,  which  had  been  her  mother's  wedding- 
ring,  and  various  brooches  and  fancy  studs. 
These,  it  seemed,  had  entirely  prevented  Selina 
from  entering  into  the  deeper  faith  in  God,  and 
for  proof  argued  that  so  long  as  she  fastened 
her  heart  on  those  trinkets  she  had  never  once 
been  able  to  preach  or  exhort  in  meeting  or 
revival.  Then  the  day  came  when  she  plucked 
them  from  her  and  threw  them  in  her  trunk. 
From  that  day  on,  she  had  gone  into  the  world 
preaching  and  exhorting  successfully! 

[991 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

When  I  returned  the  book  to  Jason,  he  en- 
tered into  a  long  discussion  with  me,  and  by  the 
subconscious  seriousness  he  had  created  in  my 
heart  over  the  question  of  ornaments  and  the 
kingdom,  and  because  I  was  getting  weary  of 
the  theme,  and  also  because  the  tie-pin  and  the 
watch-chain  were  becoming  eyesores  to  me,  I 
finally  said, 

"Oh,  I'll  stop  wearing  them,  I  guess!" 

Jason  rubbed  his  white  hands  and  patted  me 
on  the  shoulders. 

"There  is  joy  in  heaven  over  one  sinner  that 
repenteth,"  he  quoted. 

"I'm  not  a  sin —  Oh,  don't  let  us  get  into 
any  more  arguments  over  the  matter,"  I  cor- 
rected, eager  to  be  out  of  the  reach  of  my  per- 
secutor. "Here  they  are;  both  of  them  to  be 
put  in  a  drawer  —  or  something." 

I  pulled  out  the  tie-pin  and  unfastened  the 
watch-chain.  Then  I  was  perplexed. 

"But,  Jason,"  I  remonstrated,  "I  have  to 
carry  this  watch,  you  know.  The  watch- 
chain  was  handy.  It  kept  me  from  losing  the 
watch.  What  am  I  to  do,  if  I  don't  have  this 
chain?  It  seems  to  me  that  I  had  best  keep 
wearing  it.  What  do  you  do  for  your  watch?" 

As  he  pulled  out  a  gold  Waltham  I  felt  like 
asking  him  if  it  would  not  be  more  consistent 
for  him  to  wear  a  nickel-plated  one,  but  remem- 
bering Thropper's  comments,  I  expected  Jason 
would  argue  that  it  was  more  economical  to 

[100] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

buy  a  gold  watch  on  account  of  its  wearing 
qualities  and  reliability,  so  I  kept  the  protest 
to  myself.  Jason's  watch  was  attached  to  a 
woven  black  chain,  which,  he  said,  he  had  made 
from  a  long  shoe-lace! 

"I'll  make  one  for  you,  too,"  he  added  gen- 
erously, "if  you'll  get  a  long  lace." 

The  next  day  I  gave  him  the  lace,  and  after 
dinner,  we  sat  in  the  reception  room,  where  in 
ten  minutes,  he  wove  for  my  watch  a  chain  as 
artistic  as  a  shoe-string  chain  may  be.  After 
he  had  fastened  it  in  my  button-hole  and  to  my 
watch,  he  said: 

"Well,  Brother  Priddy,  the  weak  brother  will 
not  have  cause  to  stumble  now,  will  he?" 


101] 


Chapter  IX.  My  Trip  into  the 
Magic  World  of  the  Past.  How 
Appreciation  is  sometimes  Worth 
More  than  Money,  yason  and 
his  Coterie  on  Scent  of  Terrible 
Heresies.  How  God  "Takes  Care 
of  His  Orators.  How  a  Big  Soul 
can  go  through  Annoyances 

THE  strangeness  of  my  life  had  worn  off 
by  winter.     I  knew  every  man  and 
woman    by    name    and    character, 
and  they  knew  me.     The  daily  rou- 
tine of  class  work  and  waiting  on 
table  more  and  more  took  the  novelty  from  my 
existence.     I    was    getting    the    maximum    of 
inspiration  from  my  studies.     Leaning  back  in 
my  chair,  under  the  hissing,  flaring  gas  flame, 
with  drowsy  Thropper  opposite  me  in  his  sheep- 
skin upholstered  chair,  I  went  forth  into  the 
new  worlds  where  Ca?sar  led  his  mailed  Romans 

[102] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

and  his  following  of  slave  kings,  where  the  gaudy 
coronations  and  noisy  wars  of  ancient  England 
were  enacted;  into  the  world  whereon  Christ 
scattered  the  seed  of  faith  out  of  which  grew, 
stone  by  stone,  dipped  in  martyrs'  blood,  the 
magnificent  cathedral  Universal  Church.  With 
the  guidance  of  the  professors,  I  pierced  into 
the  living,  animal  world  where  tooth  and  fang 
and  claw  were  in  contest  and  where  the  divine 
finger  was  busy  sorting  moral  law  out  of  it.  I 
was  being  daily  disciplined  in  the  use  of  lan- 
guage and  in  the  finer  esthetic  appreciations  of 
it,  under  the  direction  of  the  English  teachers 
and  the  Oratorical  Professor. 

There  were  many,  who  with  me,  went  in  con- 
fidence to  our  teachers  and  gave  them  our  thanks 
for  their  sacrificial  services.  Of  all  the  service 
that  I  have  seen  men  and  women  render,  that 
done  by  the  faculty  of  Evangelical  University 
measured  up  to  the  finest.  They  were  men  and 
women  of  liberal  culture;  trained,  many  of  them, 
in  our  most  prominent  institutions.  Every  day 
that  they  lingered  at  the  University  teaching 
us  was  a  sacrifice.  They  were  sadly  underpaid. 
There  was  no  endowment  from  which  to  guaran- 
tee them  their  salaries.  Some  of  them  worked 
with  us,  out  of  sheer  enthusiasm,  claiming  that 
their  wages  were  the  gold  of  our  thanks  and  out- 
spoken appreciations.  They  were  willing  to 
economize  and  live  in  poorly  furnished  homes, 
in  order  to  awaken  in  those  of  us  who  had  had 

[103] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

little  opportunity,  the  first  spark  of  intellectual 
response. 

One  of  our  teachers  took  me  aside,  in  the  pir- 
vacy  of  his  empty  classroom,  for  the  purpose  of 
assisting  me  with  a  back  lesson.  I  had  occa- 
sion to  remark, 

"Professor,  you  aren't  giving  yourself  a  fair 
chance,  here,  are  you?  Some  of  the  students 
have  been  saying  that  you  have  had  more  than 
one  opportunity  to  better  yourself." 

The  kindly  eyes  of  the  man  glistened  with 
tears,  for  he  was  very  readily  responsive  to  his 
feelings,  and  he  said, 

"Albert,  I  cannot  better  myself.  There  is 
no  higher  privilege  in  this  world  than  to  invest 
what  God  has  seen  fit  to  give  us  in  the  way  of 
privilege  or  attainment  in  other  lives  that  thirst 
for  what  we  have!  There  are  men  in  colleges, 
whom  I  know,  surrounded  by  their  books  in 
pleasant  college  communities,  fitted  to  a  delight- 
ful social  and  intellectual  life,  teaching  in  class- 
rooms filled  with  students  who  do  not  have  to 
fight  for  a  living  as  do  the  students  here,  yet 
they  are  not  happy  men ;  not  one-tenth  so  happy 
as  I  am  teaching  you  boys  and  girls!  No,  sir! 
All  that  those  positions  that  have  been  offered 
me  could  have  done  would  have  been  to  ease 
me  from  financial  worries,  and  relieve  me  from 
a  few  hours  of  instruction;  but  there  is  nothing 
in  this  wide  world,  Albert,  can  equal  the  work 
I  am  privileged  to  do  with  such  as  you,  to 

[104] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

inspire  you  for  useful  service.  It  is  missionary 
work;  but  missionary  work  pays  the  highest 
wages.  I  have  the  first  chance  at  men  in  the 
making!" 

It  was  not  alone  the  poverty  of  the  university 
equipment  and  the  inadequate  compensa- 
tion they  received  which  intensified  the  noble- 
ness of  our  teachers'  characters,  but  also  their 
endurance  of  some  of  the  petty,  trivial  annoy- 
ances they  suffered  from  the  dogmatic  Jason 
and  his  few  followers.  For  even  into  the  class- 
rooms religious,  doctrinal  quibbles  were  carried 
by  those  stern  and  unyielding  students.  The 
little  coterie  went  on  strike  in  the  English 
department  when  the  Professor  refused  to  debar 
Shakespere  and  Burns  from  the  reading  courses, 
in  response  to  the  charges  drawn  up  and  pre- 
sented by  Jason's  clique  that  those  writers  had 
unreadable  passages  in  their  works.  Some  one 
replied,  that  on  this  basis,  Jason  had  better 
stop  reading  the  Bible  for  the  same  reasons. 
To  this  Jason  replied  that  "The  Bible  is  the 
Bible,  but  Shakespere  is  only  Shakespere!" 
But  the  more  acute  issues  between  Jason  and  his 
followers  and  the  curriculum  were  to  be  found 
in  the  scientific  and  theological  classrooms. 
Here  the  conflict  between  "science  and  religion" 
as  the  Church  History  termed  it,  became  pointed, 
tragical.  I  can  still  see  them,  the  two  followers 
of  Jason,  standing  before  the  scientific  professor 
after  class  had  been  dismissed.  They  are  on 

[105] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

scent  of  a  terrible  heresy!     Aggressively  they 
quiz  the  able  exponent  of  science,  as  follows: 

"You  said  in  this  recitation,  professor,  that 
the  world  was  created  in  millions  of  years?" 

"I  did!" 

"But  the  Bible  says  plainly,  that  God  cre- 
ated it  in  six  days  and  that  He  rested  from  his 
labors  on  the  seventh  day!" 

"  Oh,  the  Bible,  in  that  part  is  not  to  be  taken 
literally  —  it  —  ' 

But  he  could  get  no  further.  Two  shocked 
faces  were  before  him,  and  one  of  the  students 
interjected, 

"Why,  we  have  to  believe  the  Bible!" 

"We  shall  stick  to  the  Bible!"  added  the  other 
in  support. 

"But  let  me  explain,"  began  the  professor, 
patiently,  "you  see  the  early  Hebrews  possessed 
no  real  science — " 

"But,  professor,"  interrupted  one  of  the 
students,  "God  revealed  it  to  them  and  — " 

"We  will  not  discuss  the  matter  further  at 
this  time,"  interrupted  the  teacher. 

"But  what  shall  we  do  when  the  examina- 
tion comes  around,"  asked  the  first  speaker, 
"if  you  tell  us  to  give  the  age  of  the  earth,  we 
shall  either  have  to  say  that  it  is  millions  of 
years  old  or  that  it  was  made  in  six  days?" 

"Of  course,"  added  the  second  student,  with 
finality,  "we  shall  have  to  stick  to  the  Bible 
statement,  even  if  you  mark  us  down!" 

[106] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"Rest  easy  in  your  minds,  young  men," 
retorted  the  severely  tried  professor,  "I  don't 
think  I  shall  call  on  you  to  undergo  such  a 
martyrdom!" 

Even  the  professor  of  elocution  was  not 
exempt  from  this  little  band  of  literalists.  Some 
of  this  band  had  so  firm  a  confidence  in  God 
that  they  "could  leave  with  Him"  what  they 
were  to  speak,  how  they  were  to  speak  it,  and 
the  sort  of  gestures  that  should  accompany 
their  exhortations,  for  they  were  preparing 
themselves  for  the  church.  "Pa"  Borden  was 
the  leader  in  this  sort  of  thought.  He  had 
done  some  exhorting  before  becoming  a  member 
of  the  University,  and  he  summed  up  the  case 
quite  well  when  he  said,  in  his  heavy,  sober 
way, 

"What  right  has  any  man,  I  don't  care  who 
he  is,  to  improve  on  what  God  has  done,  I'd 
like  to  know?  It  will  be  given  us  in  that  day, 
says  the  Bible,  what  we  shall  say  and  how  we 
shall  say  it.  What  more  do  you  want?  " 

So  this  little  band  of  the  sons  of  the  prophets 
stood  apart  from  the  kindly  and  helpful  criti- 
cisms of  the  professor  of  elocution,  and  contin- 
ued their  old  practise  of  yanking  their  stiff  arms, 
standing  on  their  awkward  feet,  speaking  from 
tight  throats,  in  stubborn  loyalty  to  their  faith 
in  God's  oratorical  interest  in  them. 

The  patience,  the  Christian  patience,  of  the 
professors  carried  them  past  such  trivial,  but 

[107] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

real  annoyances  with  the  same  nobleness  with 
which  a  true-compassed  ship  goes  straight  to 
its  port  despite  the  little  chips  that  tap  against 
it.  For  every  one  of  these  quibblers  over  doc- 
trine, there  were  several  appreciative,  awaken- 
ing minds,  leaping  at  the  truth.  The  professors 
centered  their  real  efforts  on  the  majority  of 
those  who  could  face  the  truth  no  matter  in  how 
startling  a  dress  it  first  presented  itself.  In 
such,  these  deep-hearted,  sacrificing  teachers 
found  their  real  reward:  lasting  gratitude. 


[108] 


Chapter  X.  The  Magnitude  of 
a  Postage  Stamp.  Showing  how 
Desperate  the  'Thirst  of  Money 
made  me.  Brock's  Rosy  Nose 
and  its  Possibilities  as  a  Fireplace. 
How  Brock  thought  he  was  Fool- 
ing me  and  the  Other  Way  About. 
The  Barrow  that  Became  our 
Enemy  and  how  Brock  was  Re- 
venged on  it 

IT  was  a  morning  in  early  December.    An 
unsealed  letter  lay  on  my  table,  a  Christ- 
mas  greeting   to    a   mill   friend.     I    had 
written  it  the  previous  night.     When  the 
morning  dawned,  I  realized  that  I  had  not 
enough  money  with  which  to  purchase  a  stamp 
for  it.     A  feeling  of  utter  miserableness  took 
hold  of  me.     There  I  stood,  working  my  way 
through  school  successfully,  from  week  to  week 
without  any  difficulty,  and  yet  when  it  came  to 

[109] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

forwarding  a  message  of  greeting  to  the  outside 
world  I  was  a  pauper!  That  strong  term  mas- 
tered me.  I  knew  that  for  the  mere  asking 
Thropper  had  a  stamp  waiting  for  me,  but  I 
resented  the  thought  of  charity,  the  humilia- 
tion of  asking  for  the  gift  of  a  postage  stamp. 
After  chapel  I  went  into  the  President's  office 
and  on  being  shown  in,  made  the  following 
announcement. 

"Please,  Doctor,  I  think  I  had  better  leave 
the  University.  It  is  no  use!" 

"What  is  the  matter  now,  young  man?"  he 
enquired,  gently. 

"I've  got  to  earn  some  cash,  sir.  You  know 
that  I  shall  never  have  any  by  working  for 
the  University;  it  all  goes  on  my  account.  I 
need  some  clothes,  and  just  at  present  I  need  a 
stamp.  I  haven't  handled  any  money  since 
my  three  dollars  was  spent;  it  is  almost  three 
months  since  then." 

"But  you  don't  have  to  run  away  from  your 
education,  do  you?"  asked  the  President,  bend- 
ing on  me  his  searching  eyes.  "I  thought 
you  would  stick  to  it!" 

"But  what  can  I  do,  sir?"  I  demanded,  "I 
am  busy  waiting  on  the  table,  and  cannot  leave 
the  campus  to  earn  money.  I  give  all  my  spare 
time  to  the  University.  If  I  could  work  a 
week  or  two  at  outside  tasks  I  might  get  some 
money  on  hand." 

"There  need  be  no  trouble  about  that," 
[110] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

agreed  the  President.  "Get  some  one  to  take 
your  place  in  the  dining-hall  on  Saturdays,  and 
I  will  see  if  there  are  any  jobs  you  can  do." 

The  following  morning,  in  chapel,  the  Dean 
read  off  my  name  as  one  of  the  students  that 
the  President  wished  to  see,  in  his  office. 

"There  is  a  load  of  bricks  on  a  siding  of  the 
brick-mill  —  you  know  where  that  is,  of  course," 
he  said.  "Brock  has  taken  the  contract  for 
loading  a  car  at  something  or  other  a  thousand 
-  which  means  about  twenty  cents  an  hour,  I 
believe.  He  is  quite  willing  to  take  you  with 
him  on  Saturday,  if  you  care  for  the  work." 

Inwardly  I  thought  of  my  frail  muscles  hurling 
rows  of  brick  through  the  air  on  a  winter's  day 
—  and  felt  doubtful  about  the  adventure,  but 
the  President  was  waiting  for  his  answer,  so 
I  said  hastily, 

"Anything  at  all,  sir,  that  will  bring  me  in 
a  real,  substantial  piece  of  money.  It  will 
look  big  enough  when  I  do  see  it,  sir!" 

Thropper  was  eager  to  take  a  day  off  from 
the  glass  factory  and  so  was  able  to  take  my 
place  at  the  tables.  I  had  a  conference  with 
Brock,  relative  to  the  proposed  loading  of  the 
car  of  bricks. 

"Can  you  manage  it?"  he  asked  dubiously, 
scanning  his  eyes  doubtfully  over  my  frail 
physique. 

I  was  in  a  desperate  mood  just  then,  and  with 
an  accent  in  my  voice  that  scorned  even  the  sug- 

[111] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

gestion  of  any  mental,  physical,  or  moral  inca- 
pacity, I  declared, 

"Can  I?" 

Then  scanning  Brock's  ungeared  physique, 
I  asked  in  turn, 

"How  about  yourself?  Seems  to  me  you 
are  a  near  rival  to  a  centre -pole  yourself, 
Brock!" 

He  grinned,  guiltily. 

"I  used  to  exercise  with  dumb-bells  —  once 
upon  a  time.  It  is  long  since.  I  am  afraid 
that  the  daily  exercise  of  pressing  the  button 
of  the  call  bell  hasn't  done  well  by  my  muscles." 

"I've  watched  the  Portuguese  load  schooners 
with  bricks  many  a  time,"  I  affirmed. 

"Your  experience  might  help  —  some,"  he 
declared,  "the  man  who  engaged  me  told  me 
how  to  place  them  in  the  car  and  all  about  the 
number  of  rows  and  the  count.  I'll  be  able  to 
manage  that  part  of  it.  I  hope  that  you  and 
I,  Priddy,  will  be  able  to  succeed  with  the  brick 
end  of  it." 

"The  way  the  brick  loaders  do,"  I  explained, 
"is  to  pass  them  from  hand  to  hand  four  or 
five  bricks  at  a  time  —  just  like  passing  ball, 
you  know!" 

"Urn,  urn!"  nodded  Brock.  "But  what 
about  the  sharp  ends  of  the  bricks?  They  cut 
gashes  in  soft  hands,  of  course." 

"Oh,  we'll  wear  thick  gloves,"  I  explained, 
"something  to  protect  the  hands." 

[112] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"We  should  have  to  wear  gloves  under  any 
circumstances,"  said  Brock,  "the  weather  we're 
getting  is  very  far  from  a  summer  day!" 

"Oh,  we'll  manage  all  right,"  I  affirmed,  for 
the  mere  thought  of  a  possible  dollar  and  a 
hah3  in  cash  set  my  brain  in  a  whirl  of  incaution 
and  illogical  optimism.  In  that  mood,  if  the 
President  had  offered  me  his  place  for  a  week 
—  for  a  cash  wage  —  it  is  doubtful  if  I  should 
have  refused  him. 

By  half-past  seven  the  following  Saturday 
morning,  Brock  and  I,  bundled  in  the  oldest 
garments  we  had  been  able  to  borrow  or  beg, 
with  quadruple  thicknesses  of  old  socks  cover- 
ing our  hands,  for  mittens,  and  with  lunches 
put  up  in  pasteboard  boxes,  left  the  village  cen- 
ter, walked  down  a  frozen  turnpike,  until  we 
came  to  the  lonesome,  neglected  brickyard 
with  its  Egyptian  tombs  of  piled  brick,  yet 
unsold.  A  covered  freight  car  had  been  left 
on  the  rusty  siding;  the  car  stood  off  from  the 
nearest  brick-pile  separated  by  a  gap  of  two 
yards.  It  was  a  dreary  and  very  cold  prospect, 
for  the  north  wind  surged  down  over  the  frozen 
pastures,  and  hummed  and  wailed  through  the 
black  latticework  of  an  abandoned  oil-well  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  track. 

"Your  face  is  blue  to  begin  with,"  mumbled 
my  companion  from  behind  the  folds  of  his 
cap. 

"And  your  nose  would  make  an  excellent 
[113] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

danger  signal  on  the  rear  end  of  a  train,"  I 
retorted.  "When  my  hands  get  cold,  which 
they  are  rapidly  doing,  I'll  warm  them  over 
your  nose!" 

"Better  get  to  work,"  suggested  Brock, 
"before  we  freeze  to  death  in  this  miserable 
place.  Worth  twenty  cents  an  hour  for  this 
work,  eh?" 

"Worth  a  dollar  an  hour,  I  think,"  I  replied. 

We  fixed  some  stout  planks  into  a  run-way 
between  the  top  of  a  brick-pile  and  the  freight 
car,  after  the  door  had  been  unbarred.  We 
found  a  shallow  and  creaky  barrow  under  a 
shed.  After  helping  me  fill  it  with  the  first 
load,  Brock  tried  to  wheel  into  the  car  what  we 
had  put  in.  He  gained  the  edge  of  the  plank, 
and  the  ill-balanced  load  dumped  over  on  the 
ground. 

"We  put  in  too  many,  to  begin  with,"  sug- 
gested Brock.  "Next  time  we'll  reduce  the 
load  by  half.  I  forgot  they  were  so  heavy.  I 
was  too  ambitious." 

The  next  load  went  across  the  planks  success- 
fully, and  after  they  had  been  dumped  on  the 
floor  of  the  car,  Brock  said, 

"I'll  pack  these  in  the  car  the  way  the  man 
told  me,  and  then  when  the  load  is  properly 
started,  we  can  take  turns  with  the  barrow." 

At  first  it  was  exciting  and  warm  work,  but 
after  the  first  warm  glow  had  died  down  in  the 
blood,  my  body  began  to  stiffen  with  the  expo- 

[114] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

sure.  Then  my  muscles,  ill-treated  by  excess- 
ive and  continuous  lifting  of  the  loads,  began 
to  tighten  and  shoot  with  pain.  But  at  first,  I 
did  not  care  to  let  Brock  know,  Brock,  who  was 
snugly  shielded  from  the  wind,  with  the  easier 
and  less  straining  task.  But  he  must  have 
noticed  me  gasp  in  with  a  load  for  he  suddenly 
leaped  to  his  feet  and  said, 

"Your  turn  here,  now,  Priddy.  Give  me  the 
barrow!" 

I  flung  myself  to  the  dusty  floor  of  the  car 
when  he  relieved  me  of  the  barrow  and  never 
lifted  a  hand  until  I  heard  him  coming  with  his 
first  load.  Then  I  picked  up  a  brick  and  fitted 
it  in  one  of  the  rows,  and  tried  to  say  cheerfully, 
when  he  entered, 

"Is  that  placed  right,  Brock?" 

"All  right,  Priddy,"  he  replied,  and  then 
went  out  whistling  with  the  barrow. 

With  the  change  in  the  task,  I  recuperated 
somewhat,  and  worked  on  with  the  thought 
warming  me,  that  every  hour  added  twenty 
cents  in  cash  to  my  credit.  When  the  first 
twenty  cents  had  been  earned,  I  took  heart 
and  said  to  myself, 

"Well,  I  shall  be  able  to  buy  that  stamp  for 
the  letter!" 

Brock  ceased  whistling  after  his  fourth  load. 
I  took  a  look  at  his  face.  It  was  pale  and 
strained. 

"Hadn't  you  better  take  a  breathing  spell, 
[115] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

Brock?"  I  suggested.  "It  comes  hard  when 
one  isn't  used  to  it.  That  barrow  wheels  hard, 
too.  We  ought  to  have  brought  some  wheel 
grease." 

"I  guess  I  will  sit  down  a  few  seconds,"  agreed 
Brock.  "  It's  quite  a  lift  —  at  first,  but  I  think 
we'll  manage  the  job,  don't  you?" 

"We'll  try!"  I  commented,  grimly. 

So  we  passed  the  barrow  from  hand  to  hand, 
the  loads  growing  smaller  and  smaller  as  the 
noon  hour  approached,  and  the  need  of  rest 
and  change  becoming  more  and  more  impera- 
tive. When  half -past  eleven  arrived  I  proposed 
that  we  eat  our  lunches;  not  so  much  for  the 
mere  satisfaction  of  hunger,  but  for  the  oppor- 
tunity of  absolute  rest  for  an  hour.  Brock 
assented  to  the  proposition  the  instant  it  had 
left  my  lips.  In  fact,  he  dropped  his  barrow 
in  the  middle  of  the  plank;  an  act  on  which  I 
commented  by  that  fragment  of  an  old  song: 

"  For  I've  worked  four  hours  this  day,  this  day, 
For  I've  worked  four  hours  this  day. 
Keep  your  whiskers  on,  till  the  morning,  John, 
For  I  shan't  work  another  minute  longer!" 

We  closed  the  doors  of  the  car,  sat  in  a  far 
corner  and  munched  our  bread  and  cold  meat 
as  if  it  had  been  a  luxury  from  a  king's  ban- 
quet table.  Then  after  our  meal,  in  spite  of 
the  chilliness  of  the  car,  we  stretched  ourselves 
on  our  backs  and  gave  our  strained,  worn  muscler 
the  opportunity  of  relaxation. 

[116] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"How  do  you  feel?"  Brock  demanded  after 
an  interminable  silence. 

"Cold,  tired,  weary  and  sick!"  I  replied, 
throwing  the  mask  off.  "Let  us  either  wheel 
that  old  barrow  again  or  go  back  to  the 
University." 

"Well,"  muttered  Brock,  dispiritedly,  "our 
backs  can't  really  get  much  worse,  Priddy. 
We  might  as  well  finish  a  day's  work.  If  we 
leave  now  we'll  be  unfit  for  work  for  another 
week  anyway.  We  might  as  well  get  all  we 
can  out  of  it  while  we  are  about  it." 

"  Oh,  that  barrow !  If  it  were  a  thing  of  flesh 
I'd  stab  it  for  my  worst  enemy!"  I  cried. 

"We  worked  too  steadily,"  suggested  Brock. 
"We  were  too  ambitious.  We'll  loaf  along  this 
afternoon  and  take  more  frequent  rests.  You 
pack  the  bricks  for  awhile.  I'll  wheel!" 

"Lucky  you  proposed  to  wheel  first,"  I  mut- 
tered, "for  I'd  have  gone  on  strike  if  I'd  been 
the  first." 

Brock  looked  knowingly  at  me,  showed  me 
the  blisters  on  his  hands  and  said, 

"I  know  just  how  you  feel!" 

Numb,  dispirited,  weary  and  backsore,  we 
worked  until  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  At 
that  time,  Brock  was  just  coming  across  the 
bridge  with  a  reduced  load,  staggering  under 
it.  I  called  out  to  him, 

"I'll  not  handle  another  brick!" 

"Neither  will  I!"  he  replied,  losing  his  grip 
[117] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

and  the  handles  of  the  barrow  so  that  it  fell 
to  the  frozen  ground  with  a  resounding  thud. 
"I'm  done!" 

When  we  reported  at  the  office  of  the  brick- 
yard owner,  and  Brock  had  given  the  compu- 
tations of  the  work  we  had  done,  my  heart 
throbbed  warmly  for  the  first  time  since  early 
morning  when  we  were  each  handed  a  dollar 
and  ten  cents  in  real  cash! 

"This  is  the  first  money  I  have  handled  for 
three  months!"  I  could  not  help  exclaiming  in 
the  office. 

"Do  you  mean  it?"  asked  the  contractor, 
interestedly. 

"I  do,  sir!" 

"Then  any  time  between  now  and  the  end 
of  the  month  that  you  want  to  earn  a  dollar 
or  two  come  to  this  office  and  I'll  have  some  more 
bricks  for  you  to  load." 

I  looked  with  a  smile  towards  Brock.  Brock 
returned  my  gaze  with  a  hearty  laugh.  Then 
he  said,  holding  out  his  swollen  hands,  for  the 
man  to  view, 

"No,  thanks!" 

And  I,  I  said, 

"Cash  is  good  and  I  need  it,  but  I  think  I'll 
leave  the  handling  of  bricks  to  the  Portuguese." 


[118] 


Chapter  XL  How  I  Competed 
with  Patrick  Henry  and  was  made 
Aware  of  an  Uneconomical  Waste 
of  the  Eighth  Letter  of  the  Al- 
phabet. How  I  Condensed  all  my 
Studies  into  an  Oration.  How  the 
Populace  Greeted  my  Rehearsal. 
Striking  the  'Top  Pitch 

BY  the  middle  of  the  year  I  had  obtained 
such  a  grip  on  study  that  I  was  bold 
enough  to  incorporate  two  extra  sub- 
jects in  the  week's  routine.     Besides 
that,  I  conceived  the  idea  of  reading 
English  history  outside  of  class  and  then  secur- 
ing permission  to  pass  an  examination  on  it,  a 
scheme   in   which   the   teacher    acquiesced.     I 
felt  that  I  must  make  up  for  lost  time  and 
hungrily,  voraciously  threw  myself  at  the  priv- 
ilege which  fortune  had  brought  me.     I  began 
to  realize  in  my  own  mind  what  men  called 

[1191 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"enthusiasm  in  his  work."  Every  day  seemed 
to  me  a  momentous  day  of  opportunity:  a  day 
in  which  I  might  atone  for  the  educational  privi- 
lege I  had  missed  up  to  my  twentieth  birth- 
day. When  I  saw  Aborn,  stately,  gifted,  and  on 
his  way  towards  his  Master's  degree  at  twenty, 
I  was  made  to  realize  how  long  a  road  I  had  be- 
fore me  and  how  energetic  I  should  have  to  be 
in  order  to  get  anywhere  in  education  from  my 
elementary  and  preparatory  studies.  So  I  put 
in  my  studies  an  investment  of  interest  and 
patient  attention  which  I  had  put  in  no  other 
work  that  I  had  ever  done. 

The  most  outstanding  interest  that  I  had 
was  the  class  in  oratory.  This  class  met  on 
the  top  floor,  under  the  rafters,  in  a  room 
directly  off  from  the  chapel.  It  resembled  the 
studio  of  a  poor  artist  with  its  gray  northern 
skylight  and  little  windows  high  above  the 
bare  floor.  The  class  included  young  men  and 
women.  Nearly  all  were  preparing  for  religious 
work,  as  ministers,  missionaries,  and  evangelists. 
One  student,  a  shock-haired  young  Westerner 
with  "temperament"  and  "personality,"  who 
generally  sat  in  the  pose  of  an  actor,  was  plan- 
ning for  the  career  of  a  public  reader. 

After  the  preliminary  weeks  of  physical  gym- 
nastics and  throat  clearing,  and  after  we  were 
able  to  say  "Oh!"  without  making  the  flame 
of  a  candle  flicker,  we  began  on  the  real  excite- 
ment of  speaking  Orations;  I  began  with  the 

[120] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

traditional  Patrick  Henry,  of  course,  and  nat- 
urally, after  long  and  patient  rehearsals  in  my 
room  credited  myself  with  the  fact  that  if  the 
author  of  that  thriller  should  chance  to  come 
into  the  oratorical  studio  on  the  morning  when 
I  planned  to  recite  it  before  my  professor,  he 
would  feel  that  his  forceful  utterance  had  passed 
into  no  mean  mouth! 

The  morning  on  which  I  was  scheduled  to 
speak  duly  arrived  and  with  it  an  increase  in 
my  confidence  that  I  should  do  well  with  it: 
the  confidence  without  which  no  orator  yet  — 
in  school  —  ever  did  much.  I  stood  out  before 
the  class,  struck  my  pose — left  foot  at  an  angle 
from  the  right  and  slightly  in  front  with  the 
weight  on  the  right  foot  to  maintain  balance  — 
and  attempted  to  recreate  the  atmosphere,  the 
thrill,  and  the  historic  eloquence  of  the  Vir- 
ginia Convention  where  the  oration  had  had  its 
birth,  before  the  innumerable  army  of  school 
lads  had  passed  it  on  from  generation  to  genera- 
tion. Applause  greeted  my  effort  and  I  sat 
down  in  a  flush  of  happiness.  However,  the 
professor,  after  crediting  me  several  points  of 
excellence,  brought  up  a  criticism  that  plunged 
me  into  a  sweat  of  guilty  self -consciousness. 
He  said, 

"Mr.  Priddy,  why  is  it  that  you  aspirate 
your  words  so?  I  know  you  were  born  in  Eng- 
land, but  you  have  been  in  this  country  for  some 
time  now.  There  were  several  places  in  the 

[121] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

oration  where  you  placed  '  h's '  where  they  should 
not  have  been  placed,  and  where  you  left  them 
off  when  they  should  have  been  retained!" 

It  was  the  first  time  in  my  whole  life  that 
anybody  had  called  my  attention  to  that  fault. 
I  said, 

"Will  you  please  give  me  samples,  sir?" 

"Well,"  replied  the  professor,  consulting  his 
tablet,  "y°u  said  'w'ile'  instead  of  'while,' 
and  '  Hi '  instead  of  the  pronoun  ' I.'  And  *  w'at ' 
instead  of  'what/  and  'Forbid  it,  //almighty 
God,'  and  you  declaimed  that  passage,  'Is  life 
so  dear  or  peace  so  sweet  as  to  be  purchased 
at  the  price  of  chains  and  slavery?'  became 
'//is  life  so  dear  hor  peace  so  sweet  h&s  to  be 
bought  hat  the  price  of  chains  and  slavery?" 

I  felt  angry  at  myself,  chagrined.  There 
trooped  into  my  guilt-smitten  consciousness 
the  innumerable  times  I  must  have  put  'h's' 
where  they  had  not  belonged  and  left  them  off 
where  they  should  have  been  retained. 

"Nobody  ever  told  me  —  about  it  before, 
sir!"  I  exclaimed. 

"This  is  just  the  place  to  get  rid  of  the  habit," 
replied  the  professor.  "I  am  here  to  help  you. 
I  think  that  when  you  get  rid  of  that  habit 
you  will  make  a  fair  showing  in  public  speech. 
Now  that  you  are  aware  of  it,  you  will  be  on 
your  guard." 

I  made  known  my  discovery  at  the  waiter's 
table  at  noon,  and  instantly  my  friends  poured 

[122] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

out  for  my  consideration  a  whole  museum  of 
sentences  I  had  originated  in  their  hearing  and 
over  which  they  had  secretly  smiled.  It  seems 
I  had  said,  "'Ave  you  got  your  'at,  Brock?'* 
and  "Will  you  'ave  another  #egg,  please?" 
and  "Look  hout  for  this  'ot  water!"  When  the 
waiters  saw  that  I  took  the  criticism  in  good 
part  and  was  eagerly  anxious  to  rid  my  speech 
of  that  defect,  they  were  instant  and  some- 
times severe  in  their  criticisms;  with  the  result 
that  in  a  very  short  while  I  gained  the  advan- 
tage over  my  "h's"  and  somewhat  tamed  them. 
With  the  mastery  of  my  "h's"  and  the  daily 
discipline  in  the  oratorical  class  came  an  over- 
mastering desire  to  make  a  public  speech.  I 
thought  that  if  I  could  accomplish  that  I  should 
vindicate  myself  so  far  as  I  had  gone  in  my 
education.  It  should  be  the  first  milestone  in 
my  school  career.  The  opportunity  was  given 
in  a  proposed  oratorical  contest  to  be  held  in 
the  village  church.  I  took  Thropper  into  my 
confidence  as  I  prepared  my  original  oration. 
Into  this  I  tried  to  exemplify  every  admirable 
rule  of  rhetoric  and  every  stern  rule  of  logic  and 
every  manner  of  long,  short,  periodic,  balanced, 
and  climactic  sentence  I  was  then  learning  in 
Rhetoric.  I  marshalled  historical  allusions,  read 
widely  in  the  library  hour  after  hour.  Then, 
when  I  had  put  myself  through  this  profitable 
discipline  and  had  typewritten  my  manuscript 
—  the  final  triumph  of  my  educational  career 

[123] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

thus  far  —  I  was  ready  for  rehearsals.  After 
I  had  practised  alone  and  as  the  evening  of  the 
contest  drew  near,  I  asked  Thropper  if  each 
evening  after  supper  he  would  accompany  me 
into  the  woods  and  listen  while  I  delivered 
my  oration.  He  consented,  cheerfully  enough. 
That  same  evening  he  accompanied  me  to  the 
pastures  in  the  rear  of  the  University.  I 
poised  myself  seriously  on  a  stump,  while  Throp- 
per stood  with  his  back  to  the  wind  in  a  waiting 
attitude.  I  had  not  delivered  more  than  two 
paragraphs  of  my  speech  before  there  came  a 
yell  from  behind  me  and  a  half-dozen  students 
ran  shouting,  applauding  and  screaming  be- 
fore me.  When  the  crowd  of  interrupters  had 
exhausted  their  animal  spirits,  I  said  to  them, 
addressing  them  from  the  stump, 

"I've  a  good  mind  to  invite  you  to  stand  out 
there  near  Thropper  and  listen!" 

"Why  not?"  they  demanded. 

"If  you  can't  address  a  bunch  of  farmers 
like  these,"  smiled  Thropper,  "you  won't  be 
able  to  stand  up  in  church  before  three  hundred 
people  and  give  it.  Go  ahead!" 

I  did,  and  the  result  was  that  the  students 
rallied  about  me  at  the  end,  carried  me  on  their 
shoulders,  shouting,  mockingly, 

"Hail  to  the  new  Webster!"  and  to  show  their 
approval  of  me,  they  sat  me  astride  a  rail  and 
would  have  given  me  a  ride  home  on  that  con- 
veyance had  not  Thropper  prevented  it. 

[124] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

The  evening  of  the  contest  arrived  and  with 
it  the  seating  of  seasoned,  experienced,  graceful, 
prize-winning  orators,  in  comparison  with  whom 
I  knew  I  should  not  and  could  not  under  any 
stretch  of  the  imagination  be  placed.  I  wanted 
to  give  a  speech  in  public,  that  was  the  height 
to  which  my  expectancy  went,  but,  of  course, 
I  had  to  set  before  me  the  prizes  that  were  offered 
and  be  prepared  for  "accidents."  When  my 
turn  came  and  I  faced  that  illimitable  sea  of 
white  faces,  I  felt  my  feet  slip  from  under  me 
while  I  seemed  to  float  above  this  conscious 
world.  Then  I  picked  out  an  interested  face 
in  the  far,  far  corner  of  the  church.  At  him  I 
threw  my  strident  voice,  determined  to  make 
him  hear  what  I  had  to  say.  The  result  was, 
in  Thropper's  words,  "Priddy,  it  seemed  that 
you  placed  your  pitch  on  top  of  the  highest 
mountain  in  the  world,  and  after  that  it  was  a 
scream,  that's  all,  old  fellow.  That  was  due 
to  inexperience." 

But  this  failure  was  atoned  for  when  the 
judges  especially  commented  on  the  "careful 
thought,"  "the  good  English,"  and  "the  ex- 
cellent form  of  the  written  oration"  and  when 
they  marked  me  in  second  place  on  the  literary 
side  of  the  matter,  I  felt  repaid  with  my  first 
adventure  into  public  speech.  I  felt  that  I 
had  vindicated  the  struggles  I  had  set  before 
me,  through  the  long  years,  to  go  through  the 
school. 

[1251 


Chapter  XI L  The  Personnel  of 
"  The  Clamorous  Eight"  and  other 
Social  Matters.  The  «  Blepoes ' ' 
and  the  "  Boulomaies'*'  Invite  me 
into  Fellowship  with  a  Protest  from 
Jason.  Epics  and  Lyrics  of  Love. 
"Pa"  Borden  Speaks  for  the 
Benedicts  on  a  Momentous  Matter. 
How  the  Magic  Tree  Lured  Some 
Unfaithful  Ones  from  their  Sworn 
Duty 


1  HE  routine  of  that  winter's  work  was 
embroidered  with  many  interesting 
social  experiences.  For  though 
many  of  the  students  were  stern  in 
religious  doctrine  and  practise, 
hearts  were  youthful  and  recreation  was 
sought.  Thropper  belonged  to  a  "Bachelor's 
Club,"  a  facetious  group  of  married  and  un- 

[126] 


T 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

married  male  students  who  met  every  now  and 
then  for  the  avowed  purpose  of  upholding  the 
dignity  of  bachelordom!  Thropper  also  joined 
a  "Moustache  Club,"  whose  members  met  and 
compared  lip  sprouts  and  looked  forward  to 
the  day  when  they  would  be  sufficiently  mature 
to  be  called  "moustaches."  These  two  insti- 
tutions were  more  satirical  than  practical; 
outlets  for  the  humor  resident  in  the  students. 
But  the  "Clamorous  Eight"  was  a  real  institu- 
tion of  the  noisiest,  most  untamed  spirits  of 
the  school,  seven  of  whom  were  young  men 
and  the  eighth  member  a  young,  gum-chewing, 
blondish,  hobbledehoy  girl  in  the  Business 
department.  What  we  knew  of  the  charter 
of  the  "Clamorous  Eight"  was  in  their  shout- 
ings, their  numerous  practical  jokes,  their  songs, 
and  their  rebellions  against  the  University  rules. 
If  anything  of  an  unlawful  nature  occurred, 
like  the  throwing  of  a  live  rooster  into  the  sleep- 
ing room  of  a  sedate  female  monitor  or  the 
placing  near  the  chapel  door  of  a  stuffed  dummy, 
suspicion  of  its  own,  fluent  accord  fixed  itself 
first  of  all  on  the  "Clamorous  Eight,"  and  hung 
there  with  tenacity  until  every  member  had 
been  through  a  "Faculty  sweat." 

There  were  two  rival  literary  societies  in  the 
University  and  the  students  were  supposed  to 
be  portioned  out  between  them.  The  "Ble- 
poes"  or  "The  Seers"  and  the  "Boulomaies" 
—  "The  Willers"  sent  their  agents  after  me  and 

[127] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

made  a  bid  for  my  membership.  These  were 
not  secret  organizations,  for  such  an  institu- 
tion was  considered  sinful  by  the  University 
authorities.  Their  gatherings  were  open  to  the 
public  and  each  student  was  supposed  to  attend 
the  different  meetings  before  deciding  which 
society  he  would  join.  Jason,  who  considered 
even  these  literary  meetings  harmful  to  the  mor- 
ale of  the  students,  on  hearing  that  I  had  been 
asked  to  join  one  of  them,  sought  me  out  and 
for  a  long  mournful  hour  tried  to  make  me 
promise  to  keep  my  name  off  their  rolls,  "For," 
he  whined,  "they  are  of  the  Devil,  brother 
Priddy!" 

"What  makes  you  think  so?"  I  demanded. 

"They  joke  in  their  meetings  and  tell  light 
things  and  for  every  idle  word  God  will  hold 
us  accountable!" 

"But  jokes  and  light  conversation  have  their 
places  in  life,  haven't  they?"  I  persisted. 

Jason  looked  at  me  with  his  round,  poet's 
eyes  growing  rounder  in  wonderment. 

"Lincoln  couldn't  have  borne  the  weight  of 
the  Civil  War  if  it  had  not  been  for  jokes  and 
fun  —  at  times,"  I  concluded. 

"But  the  Bible  says  that  for  every  idle  word 
we  shall  have  to  give  a  full  account,"  said  Jason. 
"Are  not  jokes  idle  words?" 

:'They  don't  —  eh-    '  I  stammered,  limply. 

'The  Bible  is  true,  isn't  it?"  went  on  the 
logician. 

[128] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

I  gave  up  in  desperation. 

"Look  here,  Jason,"  I  cried,  "you  might  get 
me  to  give  up  wearing  a  watch-chain  and  a 
tie-pin,  but  you  aren't  going  to  stop  me  from 
joining  one  of  these  societies.  I  want  social 
life  and  I'm  going  to  have  it,  jokes  or  no  jokes. 
I'm  not  so  good  as  you  on  logic  or  Bible,  but  you 
aren't  going  to  stand  between  me  and  a  few 
pleasures.  Don't  some  of  the  faculty  belong 
to  the  Blepoes  and  the  Boulomaies?  If  they 
can  join  without  scruples  —  and  they  are  Chris- 
tian men  and  women  —  I  can  join.  So  it's  no 
use  arguing  the  matter  with  me,  Jason.  I 
think  I'll  send  in  my  name  to  the  Blepoes  for 
the  next  meeting." 

And  I  did  join  myself  to  the  Blepoes  and  par- 
took of  their  suppers,  their  programs,  and  even 
went  so  far  one  night  as  to  appear  on  the  plat- 
form myself,  before  a  blackboard  on  which  I 
drew  sketches  to  illustrate  a  temperance  address, 
and  at  the  conclusion  of  which  I  recited  with 
great  fervor  and  many  gestures,  Kipling's 
"  Recessional." 

That  winter,  too,  though  far  outside  of  love, 
and  even  the  thoughts  of  love,  in  the  seriousness 
of  my  tasks,  I  looked  on  little  epics  and  little 
lyrics  of  love  between  man  and  woman.  Throp- 
per  himself  had  Cupid's  dart  in  his  heart  and 
his  rhapsodies  concerning  his  "luck"  and  his 
"happiness"  and  "her  wonderful  sweet  spirit" 
were  only  a  few  of  many  indications  of  the  depth 

[129] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

to  which  he  had  fallen  in  love.  Those  of  us 
who  were  not  enamored  of  love  had  to  be  diplo- 
matic in  making  engagements  to  walk  or  exer- 
cise with  the  boys,  for  there  were  times  and 
seasons  when  Thropper  and  his  fellow-lovers 
devoted  themselves  exclusively  to  their  fian- 
cees. For  instance,  there  was  lecture  night 
in  Pubbets  Junction,  six  miles  away,  and  on 
that  evening,  under  chaperonage,  the  couples 
would  seat  themselves  in  carriages  and  not  be 
back  till  midnight,  returning  to  tell  the  bache- 
lors and  maidens  the  next  morning  the  express- 
ive points  of  the  lecture  and  any  exciting 
episodes  of  the  trip,  like  the  adventure  of  the 
wheels  up  to  the  axles  in  mud  and  a  plunging 
horse  pulled  out  by  a  nearby  farmer,  the  adven- 
ture which  befell  Thropper  and  his  love  when 
they  were  on  their  way  to  hear  Sam  Small 
lecture.  Those  among  us,  like  myself,  who  were 
not  concerned  with  sentiment,  held  various 
speculative  conferences,  on  Sunday  evenings, 
as  to  how  this  and  that  student  would  mate. 
We  had  precedent  to  argue  from,  for  we  had 
seen  Donald  Bryce,  a  laughing-eyed  Evangelist- 
to-be,  pick  out  Clara  Trine,  an  athletic  and 
extremely  conscientious  Missionary-to-be.  We 
had  seen  one  of  the  "Clamorous  Eight,"  a  light- 
haired,  flush-cheeked  banker-to-be,  sort  out 
and  become  deeply  attached  to  the  female 
member  of  the  "Eight,"  the  blondish  hobble- 
dehoy, whom  we  judged,  like  grocery  store 

[130] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

sages,  would  at  least  fit  herself  to  spend  quickly 
enough  what  money  he  should  chance  to  make 
as  a  banker. 

These  loving  couples  considerably  colored 
our  social  life  and  often  made  the  University 
picnics  problems.  When  the  first  touch  of 
spring  pervaded  the  gassy  atmosphere  and, 
at  least,  suggested  the  scent  of  coming  flowers 
and  grassy  banks,  notice  was  given  out  by 
Brock  one  Saturday  morning  that  the  usual 
spring  trip  to  the  river  would  be  undertaken 
and  that  each  one  who  went  should  go  to  the 
kitchen  and  prepare  a  lunch  from  materials 
that  would  be  furnished  by  the  cooks. 

After  the  breakfast  a  meeting  of  the  excursion- 
ists was  held  in  the  reception  room,  presided 
over  by  Brock,  who  announced, 

"Now,  friends,  this  year  —  mind  you,  this 
year,  we  are  going  to  keep  together.  In  the 
past,  on  our  excursions,  there  has  been  altogether 
too  much  coupling  up  and  going  off  alone.  That 
has  spoiled  more  than  one  excursion  and  it  is 
not  the  fair  thing.  Is  it?" 

A  chorus  of  "Noes"  gave  emphasis  to  his 
protest  and  appeal. 

"This  time,  though,"  he  went  on  to  explain, 
"we  are  to  keep  together.  No  matter  if  you 
are  in  love  with  the  sweetest  girl  on  earth  and 
can't  be  alone  much  under  the  University  rules, 
you  are  not  to  wander  off  when  we  get  out  of 
bounds  and  not  come  around  to  the  main 

[131] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

party  again  until  lunch  time  and  then  go  off 
and  not  return  till  it  is  time  to  come  home. 
What  have  you  to  say  about  it,  Brother  Bor- 
den?" 

"Pa"  Borden,  thus  appealed  to,  raised  his 
pompous  head,  cleared  his  throat  after  the 
best  mode  of  the  orator,  and  said, 

"I'm  married  myself  and  maybe  shouldn't 
have  much  to  say  on  the  matter.  I  agree  with 
everything's  been  said:  agree  with  it  hard!" 
and  to  give  oratorical  force  to  his  last  word, 
he  brought  his  plump  fist  down  on  the  centre 
table,  thereby  spilling  half  the  water  out  of  the 
glass  which  held  in  it  a  sprig  of  geranium. 

A  representative  of  the  Benedicts  having 
been  heard,  Thropper,  as  representing  the  un- 
married was  asked  for  his  opinion.  He  replied, 

"Of  course  we  ought  to  keep  together.  I'm 
certain  of  it,  Mr.  Chairman.  That's  all  I  need 
to  say!" 

At  nine  o'clock  the  excursionists  started  for 
the  river  forty-five  people  strong.  To  prove 
the  sincerity  of  the  social  aspect  of  the  excur- 
sion, Thropper  and  the  other  lovers  separated 
themselves  from  their  beloveds  and  walked, 
sacrificially,  either  with  other  young  women  or 
mingled  freely  with  the  male  members  of  the 
party!  Thus  two  by  two  and  three  by  three 
we  walked  down  the  rutted,  soggy  lane  past 
the  root-fenced  sheep  pastures  where  the  woolly 
young  lambs  squeaked  and  bleated  like  crying 

[132] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

children,  down  past  the  grove  where  the  wood- 
choppers  were  measuring  cord  wood ;  past  dismal, 
wind-swept  forests  of  burnt  stumps  and  rusty 
underbrush,  over  which  desolation  huge  vul- 
tures soared,  and  pivoted  themselves  in  wait 
for  prey;  past  clayey  roads  over  which  mud 
boats  were  dragged  by  struggling  horses  and 
oxen,  past  pig-pastures  torn  up  by  the  sniffing 
snouts  of  the  ruminants.  Then  we  entered  a 
fresh,  dampish  wood-path  which  led  us  along 
the  rocky  bed  of  a  river  over  which  a  thin 
stream  of  water  churned  with  great  energy  as 
if  to  impress  us  with  its  importance.  At  last 
we  entered  a  cleared  grass  space  over  which  the 
sun  held  itself  and  lighted  gloriously  the  deep 
pool  of  water  the  river  had  become.  Here  we 
deposited  our  lunch  boxes  and  began  to  arrange 
our  games.  So  far  the  party  had  remained 
one,  much  to  the  admiration  of  Brock.  But 
now,  after  the  lunch  boxes  had  been  unloaded, 
a  rearrangement  of  the  party  began  to  take 
place.  Thropper,  who  had  been  walking  and 
talking  with  me,  hurried  over  to  the  side  of  his 
beloved,  and  said: 

"There's  a  magic  tree  farther  along  the 
path,  growing  right  through  a  big  boulder, 
about  which  there's  a  legend  of  Indians. 
I'll  tell  you  about  it!" 

That  was  all.  They  two  passed  out  of  sight 
while  the  angry  Brock  gazed  speechlessly  after 
them.  That  was  the  signal  for  other  couples 

[133] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

who  wanted  to  see  the  "magic  tree,"  and  to 
such  an  extent  did  the  defection  of  the  lovers 
take  place,  that  before  long  only  two  couples 
remained  with  the  bachelors  to  share  the  games 
we  tried  to  play. 

By  the  lunch  hour,  however,  they  came  from 
their  expeditions  from  this  side  and  that,  unapol- 
ogetic  for  leaving  us,  came  to  eat  their  lunches 
and  then  go  off  again,  paying  no  heed  to  Brock's 
impassioned  appeal  to  their  esprit  de  corps. 
When  the  hour  for  the  return  to  the  Univer- 
sity arrived,  the  couples  returned  and  then 
either  went  ahead,  arm  in  arm,  or  loafed  behind, 
immersed  in  their  own  thoughts;  leaving  us 
bachelors  to  amuse  ourselves  by  bantering 
flings  at  them,  which,  however,  were  no  more 
than  peas  aimed  at  the  mailed  shell  of  an 
armadillo. 

"It'll  be  the  same  over  again  next  time!" 
growled  Brock.  "These  lovers  —  oh!" 


[134] 


Chapter  XI II.  How  One  Dol- 
lar and  a  Half  Secured  "  'The 
Devil  in  Society*'  The  Medicine 
Chest  which  Became  a  Tract  De- 
pository under  the  Teachings  of  a 
New  Creed.  How  I  Stuck  to 
Orthodoxy 


T 


HE  spring  was  full  upon  us,  with  the 
return  of  the  birds,  the  tang  of  the 
new  plowed  soil  in  the  sugar- 
field  where  the  "University  Mare" 
tugged  listlessly  at  the  plow  whose 
blade  sliced  through  the  clayey  earth  leaving 
back  of  it  shiny,  damp  slices  on  which  the  birds 
stood  and  pecked  up  the  exposed  grubs  and 
worms.  The  dynamite  wagon  with  its  frail 
springs  and  its  dangerous  load  jogged  by  along 
the  turnpike  on  its  way  to  newly-bored  oil- 
wells.  Flocks  of  sheep  with  an  accompanying 
host  of  maximum-legged  lamblets  passed  over 
the  turnpike  on  their  way  to  the  railroad-cars, 
to  be  followed  by  grunting  packs  of  hogs  directed 

[135J 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

by  sapling-armed  drovers  who  in  one  minute 
of  speech  profaned  the  whole  English  language. 
Chugging  traction-engines,  hauling  plows  and 
harrows  and  on  their  way  to  hundred-acred 
wheat  and  corn  fields,  passed  in  the  night-time 
writh  their  shrill  whistle-screams  for  water  and 
their  explosive  puffing  and  puffing  as  if  no  breath 
in  their  steel  bodies  could  successfully  spurt 
them  through  the  soft  mire. 

Thropper  said  to  me,  one  afternoon, 

"Priddy,  how  would  you  like  to  sell  books?" 

"Sell  books,  Thropper?" 

Thropper  nodded. 

"What  for?"  I  asked,  interestedly. 

"For  money,  of  course,  Priddy!  What  do 
you  think?" 

"It  takes  talk  to  sell  books,  Thropper!" 

"Then  you  ought  to  make  a  success  at  the 
business,  Priddy!" 

"What's  the  book?" 

'The  Devil  in  Society,  or  High  Life  in 
Washington  by  an  Ex-Congressman,'"  quoted 
Thropper. 

"Sensational,  then? " 

"A  moral  book  —  with  a  lesson,"  laughed 
Thropper,  "pepper  to  make  you  know  that  it 
stings,  you  see,  Priddy.  Fifty  per  cent  on  each 
one.  Buy  them  for  seventy-five  cents,  sell  for 
dollar  and  a  half.  Easy  money,  everybody 
wants  the  book  on  sight.  I'll  loan  you  three 
dollars  for  four  if  you  want.  Sure  to  sell  them ! " 

[136] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"Anything  to  get  some  cash,"  I  cried.  "Be- 
sides this  would  take  me  on  Saturday  trips  into 
the  surrounding  towns.  That  would  be  quite 
an  adventure  after  staying  here  throughout 
the  winter.  Will  you  show  me  the  book?" 

"'Pa'  Borden  will  bring  one  around  tonight. 
He's  the  general  agent,"  declared  my  roommate. 

In  the  evening,  before  the  half-past  seven 
bell  had  signalled  silence  and  study,  "Pa" 
Borden  had  displayed  the  book  to  us.  It  was 
a  lurid  green  cloth-bound  affair  in  which  the 
glue  showed  in  the  web  of  the  cloth,  printed 
with  blotched,  worn  type  on  the  cheapest  of 
cheap  paper  and  interspersed  with  amateur- 
ish wood-cuts  of  which  I  recall  a  drunken  revel 
in  a  ball-room  and  some  ballet-dancer-garbed 
women  on  a  seashore  with  wooden  waves  indi- 
cated by  wavy  lines.  I  was  no  connoisseur  of 
literature  at  the  time  and  took  as  solemn  truth 
"Pa"  Borden's  words  that  "anything  that 
was  of  the  Devil  ought  to  be  showed  up,  even 
if  it  cost  a  dollar  and  a  half ! "  I  allowed  Throp- 
per  to  get  me  four  of  the  books  and  placed  my- 
self under  his  instructions  for  a  week  during 
which  time  I  learned  how  to  point  out  the  chief 
items  of  interest  in  the  illustrations  when  they 
were  upside  down,  to  give  a  kinetescopic  view 
of  the  table  of  contents,  and  to  end  by  flashing 
the  record  of  previous  sales  before  the  aston- 
ished housewife's  eyes  before  she  could  make  up 
her  mind  whether  she  wanted  the  book  or  not. 

[137] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

The  following  week,  then,  after  engaging  a 
substitute  waiter  for  the  day  I  accompanied 
Thropper  to  Pubbets  Junction  to  place  "The 
Devil  in  Society."  The  first  door  on  which  I 
knocked  chanced  to  be  that  of  a  Christian  Science 
Reader,  a  very  highly  cultivated  and  sweet- 
spirited  woman  who,  the  minute  I  announced 
that  I  was  agent  for  a  book  entitled  "The  Devil 
in  Society"  immediately  knocked  my  "patter" 
hors  de  combat  by  announcing,  firmly,  that 
there  was  no  such  thing  as  a  Devil  and  that 
it  was  all  a  delusion  of  mortal  mind,  adding 
various  other  remonstrances  of  a  philosophical, 
semi-philosophical,  and  dogmatic  nature  which 
I  was  in  no  mood  or  mind  to  combat.  Besides 
bewildering  me  in  the  intellectual  meshes  of 
that  new  doctrine,  the  woman  made  me  sit  in 
her  office  and  listen  to  a  fascinating  recital  of 
her  household's  progress  from  a  drug-store  of 
drugs  to  an  empty  medicine  chest:  to  a  radical 
change  in  the  family  temper  from  semi-pessi- 
mism into  a  real  sunburst  of  glorious,  mellow- 
ing optimism:  to  an  intricate  and  involved 
interpretation  of  the  Old  Testament  and  then 
in  a  very  cloudy  but,  to  me,  excitingly  suggestive 
denial  of  all  facts  that  men  and  books  had  told 
me  were  positive  and  real.  All  this,  of  course, 
was  the  precursor  to  an  attempt  to  proselyte 
me  to  the  faith  of  Christian  Science.  After 
she  had  shown  me  the  empty  medicine  chest, 
which  she  was  then  using  as  a  store-house  for 

[138] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

all  sorts  of  Christian  Science  literature,  I  told 
her  that  I  had  learned  a  great  deal  that  was 
both  new  and  novel,  that  I  would  think  it  over 
seriously,  but  that  I  should  never  believe  in 
anything  but  orthodoxy.  Then  I  called  at  the 
next  house  and  many  other  houses,  so  that  by 
noon,  when  I  met  Thropper  at  a  candy  store, 
where  we  lunched  on  a  glass  of  milk  and  some 
Washington  pie,  I  had  sold  two  books  and  earned 
one  dollar  and  a  half.  In  the  flush  of  that  suc- 
cess, I  returned  to  the  University,  ready  to 
repeat  the  excursion  the  following  and  several 
other  Saturday  mornings.  According  to  Throp- 
per's  epigram,  "The  Devil  in  Society"  meant 
dollars  in  our  pockets! 


[139] 


Chapter  XI f.  A  Chapter  De- 
picting how  Strife  Existed  Between 
the  Pro-Gymnasiums  and  the  Anti- 
Gymnasiums  and  Showing  how 
Baseball,  Debates  and  an  Epi- 
demic Determined  Matters  This 
Way  and  That 

NXT   to   its   faith   in   religion   an 
extreme    abhorrence    of    matched 
athletic  games  pervaded  the  rul- 
ing spirits  of  the  University  and 
found  its  sanction  in  the  charter 
of  the  institution.     In  the  Bleponian  and  Boul- 
omanian    literary    societies    the    characteristic 
discussion    for    heated    and    vigorous    debate, 
next  to  the  eternal   question:   Does  Love   or 
Money  Rule   the    World?    was:    Are    Athletic 
Contests    Moral?    The  charter  and    advertise- 
ments of  the  University  said  very  emphatically 
that  they  were  not  and  should  not  be  tolerated 
by  Christian  people.     Jason  and  his  Board  of 

[140] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

Pharisees  agreed  with  the  University.  On  the 
other  hand,  there  were  many  young  men  and 
women  who  had  an  opposite  mind  and  took 
issue  on  every  occasion  with  Jason  and  the 
authorities.  Thus  one  could  find  them  on 
every  occasion  in  the  springtime  when  the 
fields  and  the  paved  paths  lured  forth  what- 
ever sporting  proclivities  nature  had  deposited 
in  the  blood,  Jason  and  his  followers  firmly 
insisting  that  under  no  consideration  should  a 
contest  of  any  sort  —  even  a  game  of  checkers 
or  "Pit"  be  countenanced,  as  it  led  to  gambling, 
and,  if  not  to  gambling,  then  to  unchristian 
feeling.  This  feeling  became  acute  when  the 
students  began  to  discuss  the  necessity  for  an 
athletic  field  and  a  gymnasium:  a  very  hypo- 
thetical discussion  remote  and  probably  ever 
to  remain  remote,  for  the  University  had  need 
of  money  for  more  impending  goods  than 
gymnasiums.  But  Jason's  party  argued  as  if 
the  gymnasium  were  about  to  be  built,  and  said 
that  it  would  only  lead  young  men  into  racing 
for  prizes !  —  and  competing  for  wagers !  The 
party  was  called  the  Anti-Gymnasiums. 

Thropper  and  I  aligned  ourselves  to  the  Pro- 
Gymnasiums,  for,  as  Thropper  said  to  me: 

"My  kneecaps  fairly  creak  for  need  of  stretch- 
ing. As  for  my  arm  joints  and  muscles,  they 
pain  me  on  the  least  provocation.  I  need 
proper,  systematic  exercise." 

The  Pro-Gymnasiums  were  thoroughly  rep- 
[141] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

resented  by  "The  Clamorous  Eight,"  whose 
faces  and  veins  throbbed  with  healthy,  well- 
exercised  blood;  in  fact,  they  were  eight  who 
cared  for  little  else  beyond  exercise  of  muscles. 

The  program  of  the  Blepoes  one  Friday  even- 
ing was  devoted  to  the  debate  of  the  question: 
"Resolved:  That  the  Bible  Prohibits  Athletic 
Contests."  Larry  Thomas,  who  debated  for 
the  Pro's  and  who  was  almost  as  well  versed  in 
biblical  lore  as  was  Jason,  argued  well,  basing 
his  strongest  rhetoric  on  Paul's  words:  "I  so 
run  that  I  may  receive  a  prize,"  and  "I  box, 
not  as  beating  the  air,"  but,  as  Larry  para- 
phrased it,  freely,  "to  give  a  knock-out,  pure 
and  simple,  a  plain  indication  that  Paul  believed 
in  the  prize-ring  and  the  running-track!"  The 
Anti's,  realizing  the  force  of  these  quotations, 
attempted  to  minimize  their  power  by  arguing, 
"Oh,  Paul  was  only  using  the  common  terms 
of  his  day;  the  ordinary  experiences  of  unchris- 
tian men,  to  represent  to  them  the  Christian 
life.  That  was  all.  He  was  not  giving  sanc- 
tion to  sports."  This  explanation,  the  judges 
informed  us,  considerably  helped  the  Anti's, 
but  the  debate  was  declared  a  draw. 

One  Saturday  morning  when  the  air  was 
crammed  with  the  warmth  and  lassitude  of 
early  summer,  and  a  considerable  number  of 
Pro-Gymnasiums  were  playing  scrub  baseball, 
one  of  the  "Clamorous  Eight,"  in  a  fit  of  healthy 
rebellion  against  the  University,  proposed: 

[142] 


EVANGELICAL  UNIVERSITY  WAS  TREATED  TO  ITS  FIRST  MATCH  GAME 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"Say,  fellows,  this  knocking  out  a  ball  is 
too  tame.  Let's  choose  up  sides.  There's  no 
harm  in  it!" 

Thropper,  who  was  not  working  that  day, 
and  myself,  were  among  those  enjoying  the 
sport,  and  in  the  excitement  and  thoughtless- 
ness of  the  minute  we  consented.  I  was  placed 
in  the  field,  Thropper  went  in  the  catcher's 
box.  We  even  engaged  the  services  of  an  um- 
pire, though  few  were  found  from  whom  we 
could  select  a  capable  official.  Many  of  the 
Pro's  dared  not  come  into  the  game,  but  stood 
off  ready  to  look  on  an  incident  that  should 
become  historic,  like  a  Civil  War  or  a  French 
Revolution :  the  first  matched  game  ever  played 
on  the  University  grounds! 

Jason  looked  on  the  opening  of  the  game  with 
horror.  To  him  it  seemed  that  the  Evil  One 
had  just  made  his  bold  appearance  in  the  morale 
of  the  institution.  When  he  heard  the  umpire's 
decisions  and  saw  the  sides  changing  positions, 
and  realized  at  last  that  the  whole  event  had 
actually  developed  into  a  matched  game,  he 
hurried  to  the  home  of  the  Dean  and  gave  no- 
tice of  the  rebellion  that  he  had  scented.  In- 
stantly the  authorities  came,  ordered  the  game 
disbanded,  took  our  names  for  Faculty  disci- 
pline, and  we  left  the  field  to  the  Anti's,  who 
sincerely  believed  that  Satan  himself  had  been 
flouted. 

But  even  the  anti-match  spirit  of  Jason  and 
[143] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

his  band  could  not  eliminate  from  their  joints 
and  muscles  the  need  of  exercise,  and  while 
they  argued  against  the  advent  of  contested 
sports,  they  could  be  found  on  the  cinder  walk 
after  supper,  previous  to  the  evening  prayer- 
service,  leaping,  bounding,  twisting,  and  jump- 
ing, Jason  in  competition  manifesting  the  grace 
of  a  rheumatic  frog. 

Shortly  after  this  an  epidemic  of  disease 
broke  out  in  the  village.  The  University  was 
quarantined  —  even  from  attendance  at  the 
village  church  services.  The  momentousness 
of  this  is  plainly  evident  when  it  is  remembered 
that  it  was  these  church  services  which  gave 
to  the  University  lovers  their  chance  to  walk 
together,  sit  together,  sing  and  pray  and  talk 
together;  consequently  the  quarantine  imposed 
a  severe  restriction  upon  the  poor  unfortunates. 

When  Sunday  dawned,  glorious  with  the  sum- 
mer sun,  some  of  the  members  of  Jason's  clique 
together  with  their  young  ladies  took  their 
black-bound  Bibles  and  sat  under  the  campus 
saplings  for  Bible  study:  two  in  a  class  and 
every  sapling  shade  occupied. 

But  the  Dean,  who  hated  sham  of  every  sort, 
interrupted  these  classes  and  the  next  morn- 
ing in  chapel  he  had  some  very  emphatic  and 
pointed  remarks  to  make  on  the  subject:  "The 
Sacrilege  of  Pretending  to  Study  the  Bible  when 
You  are  Doing  Nothing  but  Make  Love!" 

It  was  the  Pro-gymnasiums'  turn  to  laugh  then. 
[144] 


Chapter  XV.  A  Ph.D.  in  a 
Clay  Ditch  and  the  Futility  of  it. 
A  Can  of  Beans  at  the  Conclusion 
of  a  Morbid  Meditation.  How 
Thropper  and  I  Played  David 
and  yonathan 

THE   first  summer   vacation  brought 
joy  to  a  majority  of  the  students, 
but  to  me  it  merely  meant  a  lonely 
isolation  for  three  months  on  the 
campus  where  I  was  accustomed  to 
watch  my  friends  move  back  and  forth  hour 
after  hour  through  the  day.    They  went  out  with 
tents:   the  Evangelists.     They  went  out  with 
books:  the  canvassers.     They  went  out  with 
brawn   and   health:   the   miners   and    farmers. 
They  left  me  alone  to  share  the  solitude  of  the 
campus  with  the  few  professors  who  were  not 
going  to  conferences,  and  with  the  superintend- 
ent of  grounds,  whose  assistant  I  was  to  be. 
The  winter's  struggle,  though  pleasant,  had 
[1451 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

left  me  tired  and  listless.  I  needed  a  rest, 
but  saw  no  possibility  of  any.  I  had  few  good 
clothes  and  no  money.  Any  adventure  into  the 
world  would  have  been  utter  folly.  So  I  began 
to  scrub  floors  in  the  University  building,  to 
mow  the  grass  and  trim  the  flowers.  I  painted 
and  scraped  and  hung  wall  paper,  all  in  the 
silences  of  the  dormitories  once  full  of  merry 
sounds,  the  recollections  of  which  doubled  the 
loneliness  I  suffered  from. 

Meanwhile  I  made  my  home  in  the  little 
room  where  we  had  held  our  feast  in  honor 
of  Queen  Victoria's  birthday.  In  it  stood  the 
stove  on  which  I  cooked  my  own  meals :  canned 
goods,  tea,  and  sundry  fries  of  bacon,  eggs, 
ham,  and  potatoes.  Here,  too,  I  washed  my 
clothes. 

During  a  lull  in  the  work,  one  of  the  married 
students,  who  had  been  given  his  Ph.B.  at 
commencement  asked  me  to  go  with  him  to  the 
outskirts  of  the  village  where  some  eight-inch 
gas  pipes  were  to  be  laid.  He  wanted  me  to 
join  him  at  the  shovel!  At  the  time  I  weighed 
but  one  hundred  and  twenty  pounds.  The 
foreman  put  us  in  a  clay  ditch  under  a  scalding 
July  sun  with  a  gang  of  knotted-muscled,  tanned 
Irishmen  to  whom  the  picking  of  dried  lumps 
of  clay  and  the  shovelling  of  heaps  of  it  were 
mere  items  of  a  day's  work  to  be  done  mechan- 
ically, but  for  my  friend  and  myself  tasks  for 
Titans.  The  Irishmen  at  my  heels  kept  passing 

[146] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

me,  doubling  on  me,  until,  after  a  two  days' 
attempt,  with  the  lure  of  twenty-five  cents  an 
hour  for  the  prize,  myi  friend  with  his  Ph.B. 
and  I  with  my  ambitions  fell  out  of  the  race 
and  rode  wearily  back  to  the  village  and  to  the 
University,  where  for  days  neither  of  us  was 
fit  for  even  so  simple  a  task  as  lifting  a  pound 
weight;  the  excessive  strain  had  undermined 
our  strength. 

While  recuperating,  I  was  given  food  by  the 
superintendent  and  spent  most  of  my  time 
wandering  into  the  woods  or  through  the  sheep 
pastures  where  my  uppermost  thought  was: 
"What  is  the  use  of  all  this?  It  is  weariness  and 
a  vanity  of  the  flesh.  Give  up  your  education! 
You  must  have  money  and  strength,  money  and 
strength,  money  and  strength!"  And  then  the 
thought  of  my  classmates  would  obtrude  itself 
and  I  saw  them  in  visions  at  their  tasks,  at 
their  homes,  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  work, 
companionship,  and  wages.  I  seemed  to  hear, 
borne  on  the  summer  wind,  above  the  bleating 
of  the  sheep,  the  exhortations  of  the  evangel- 
ists in  their  tents  which  were  crowded  with 
farmers,  paying  heed  to  the  gospel,  and  I  was 
envious  of  them.  I  thought  of  the  miners 
deep  under  the  earth,  black  with  their  toil 
but  happy  in  earning  a  substantial  wage; 
strong,  oh,  so  strong!  My  fight  for  an  educa- 
tion, when  contrasted  with  their  natural  endow- 
ments of  strength  and  friendships,  seemed  puny, 

[147] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

futile.  In  such  a  way  did  the  black  demon 
Despair  lay  its  sharp  claws  on  my  spirit  and 
make  it  bleed.  I  would  start  back  across  the 
field,  not  heeding  the  innocent,  questioning 
gaze  of  the  sheep  as  they  packed  off  and  watched 
me  go,  not  watching  the  swift  circlings  of  the 
sombre  vultures  high  above  my  head,  but  going 
back  to  my  lonely  room  feeling  that  I  should 
never  have  another  flash  of  happiness  flood  my 
life  again.  Then  I  would  get  out  the  can- 
opener,  uncover  a  can  of  beans,  and  warm  them 
on  the  stove  for  supper. 

But  everything  has  its  end,  even  as  my  home- 
sickness and  discouragement  had  their  ending 
when  the  students  came  back  once  more,  bring- 
ing others  with  them.  They  came  back  flushed 
with  eagerness  for  another  year's  work;  eager 
once  more  to  invest  themselves  in  sacred  ties 
of  friendship.  Thropper  came  back  with  a 
hundred  dollars:  his  summer's  earnings.  I 
reported  that  I  had  just  managed  to  pay  my 
last  year's  tuition  and  my  summer's  board: 
I  could  enter  upon  my  second  year  of  educa- 
tion with  a  clean  slate. 

Once  more  the  round  of  studies,  prayer-meet- 
ings, and  chores  commenced :  this  time  with  less 
of  novelty.  The  approach  to  winter  brought 
with  it  the  same  questions  of  how  to  earn  cash. 
To  this  end  I  went  into  the  woods  for  a  day  and 
tried  to  chop  down  trees,  but  my  arms  were  not 
attuned  to  axe  swinging;  after  my  first  cord 

[148] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

had  been  cut  I  had  to  abandon  the  quest  for 
dollars  in  that  healthful  but  too  vigorous  work. 
I  returned  to  the  University  and  assisted  the 
baker  with  bread  and  pies  and  the  janitor  with 
the  university  floors;  the  money  to  be  credited 
against  my  account  on  the  books. 

But  I  realized  at  last  that  I  was  in  the  midst 
of  inestimable  privileges.  The  studies  awakened 
me  to  the  possibilities  of  culture  and  mental 
fitness.  Some  of  my  last  year's  friends  had 
entered  upon  the  pleasant  vocations  of  teach- 
ing and  business  for  which  they  received  a  mod- 
erate, but,  as  it  appeared  to  me,  a  flattering 
compensation.  Thropper  —  ever  on  the  alert 
with  inspiration  —  comforted  me  one  night 
when  my  empty  pockets  had  induced  a  pessi- 
mistic frame  of  mind,  by  saying: 

"Now  look  here,  Priddy.  Suppose  you  don't 
have  any  money  and  have  to  scrimp  on  things. 
Here  you  are  privileged  to  take  extra  studies 
every  day;  a  millionaire's  son  couldn't  do  more. 
You  don't  have  to  lose  a  term  of  study,  either. 
You  are  going  along  through  the  schedule  about 
as  comfortably  as  any  one.  That's  worth  a 
good  deal.  There's  Harry  Lane — got  plenty  of 
money,  but  you  know  he  was  compelled  to  drop 
out  for  a  term  on  account  of  bad  eyes.  You're 
lucky,  old  fellow!"  and  the  good-natured  fel- 
low gave  me  a  staggering,  but  well-meant,  clap 
on  the  shoulder  that  knocked  every  ounce  of 
pessimism  out  of  my  system. 

[149] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"I  am  in  luck,  Thropper.  I  know  it!"  I 
declared,  and  then  went  to  my  study  with  new 
courage.  "The  only  trouble  about  the  whole 
matter,  Thropper,"  I  declared,  after  some 
moments  of  quietness,  "is  that  I  am  making 
the  fight  alone  —  no  one  to  rely  on  if  I  get  stuck, 
you  know.  The  other  fellows  can  depend  upon 
more  or  less  from  friends  —  I  can't;  all  those 
bridges  are  cut  behind  me!" 

Thropper  closed  his  book  with  an  energetic 
snap. 

:'You  chump!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  melt- 
ing light  in  his  clear  eyes,  "what  do  you  think? 
That  you  haven't  won  any  friends  since  com- 
ing to  the  University?  That's  where  you're 
wrong:  sadly  out  of  tune!  All  you  have  to  do, 
any  day,  is  to  say  the  word  and  you  can  get 
any  amount  I  have  on  hand!" 

I  jumped  to  my  feet  and  said,  very  gently, 
"Thropper,  you're  all  right!" 

Then,  without  another  word,  for  the  situa- 
tion was  getting  close  to  the  edge  of  tears, 
Thropper  threw  himself  in  his  stuffed  chair  and 
I  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  under  the  hissing 
flare  of  the  gas,  both  of  us  as  busy  as  could  be 
with  the  next  day's  lessons. 


[1501 


Chapter  Xf^L  Vision  s.  Hysteria, 
Dogma ,  and  Poor  Lessons  to  the 
Front  when  the  Revivalists  Ar- 
rived. How  Natural  it  Sounded 
when  "Bird"  Thurlow  Asked  a 
Flippant  Question 


T 


HEN  the  annual  winter  revival  was 
announced.  Upon  this  event  the 
University  centered  all  its  prayers, 
its  hopes,  its  attention,  as  the  ban- 
ner event  of  the  year.  In  the 
church  papers  where  the  advertisement  of  the 
University  appeared,  the  annual  revival  was 
featured.  Several  of  the  students  had  been 
sent  to  the  institution  by  their  parents  prin- 
cipally for  the  spiritual  benefits  that  might  come 
to  them  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  revival. 

The  whole  air  began  to  stir  with  the  throb  of 
revival  preparation.  A  spiritual  census  of  the 
students  was  taken,  not  officially  or  in  any 
stereotyped  way,  and  all  the  enginery  of  Chris- 
tian effort  was  brought  to  bear  on  creating 

[151] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

the  right,  psychological  mood  for  the  time 
the  evangelists  should  arrive.  The  prayer 
bands  wove  in  extra  meetings  and  increased 
their  unction.  Neglected,  after-supper  prayer- 
services  were  suddenly  filled.  Bands  of  earnest, 
zealous  men  and  women  roamed  from  room  to 
room  holding  spiritual  inquisitions  over  "The 
Clamorous  Eight"  and  any  others  who  were 
thought  to  need  special  portions  of  grace. 

"I'm  heartily  in  favor  of  Christian  effort,"  I 
said  to  Jason,  one  day,  when  we  were  talking 
over  the  coming  revival,  "but  take  last  year 
and  think  how  many  hours  were  lost  to  study 
and  given  to  the  meetings!  I  should  think 
that  those  things  might  be  left  to  camp-meetings 
and  churches  —  there  were  three  long  revivals 
in  the  village  last  winter  —  and  we  ought  to 
center  our  precious  time  on  study!" 

Jason  declared,  emphatically  and  finally, 
"Brother  Priddy,  what  are  Jieads  compared  to 
souls?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  object  to  any  sort  of  efforts  being 
indulged  if  people  are  to  be  made  Christian, 
Jason,  but  according  to  what  you  said  in  the 
prayer-meeting  last  night,  there  are  only  three 
in  the  whole  University  who  do  not  make  any 
profession  of  religious  faith:  just  three,  and  yet 
two  whole  weeks  are  to  be  set  apart  to  the 
Evangelists  who  will  come  and  preach  the  *  third- 
birth  doctrine'  and  other  dogmatic  matters. 
That  is  what  I  protest  against." 

[152] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

Again  Jason  answered  with  his  inclusive, 
"Brother  Priddy,  what  are  heads  compared 
to  souls?" 

By  the  time  the  revivalists  appeared  it  had 
been  announced  in  the  prayer-service  that  not 
one  of  the  students  stood  "outside  the  Chris- 
tian fold."  The  revivalists  had  a  clear  chance, 
then,  to  preach  the  special  doctrine  of  "the 
third  birth,"  without  any  further  parley. 

The  revivalists  were  a  man  and  his  wife, 
both  of  them  uneducated,  whose  chief  claim 
to  merit  in  their  field  lay  in  the  fact  that  they 
were  said  to  be  "filled  with  the  Spirit."  In 
spite  of  the  bad  grammar,  the  mixed  figures  of 
rhetoric,  traces  of  demagogism,  and  an  excess- 
ive ex  cathedra  tone,  the  revivalists  were  given 
full  power  in  the  meetings.  All  interests  in 
pure  scholarship  were  crowded  aside.  The 
valedictorian,  the  temperance  orator  who  had 
won  the  interstate  oratorical  prize,  the  profes- 
sors, and  the  humble  seeker  after  knowledge 
were  subordinated  to  the  zealot,  the  exhorter, 
the  unctuous  pleader. 

In  morning  chapel  the  tune  was  generously 
lengthened  to  accommodate  the  doctrinal  ex- 
hortations of  the  revivalist  and  his  wife,  who 
spake  not  so  much  of  practical  concerns,  but 
entered  into  a  bewildering  maze  of  Scripture 
quibblings,  text  jugglings,  super-rational  con- 
clusions, and  a  daze  of  fantastic  analogies. 
When  the  closing  bell  sounded,  the  speaker 

[153] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

would  turn  to  the  President  and  say,  familiarly 
—  even  commandingly,  "Well,  brother,  studies 
can  wait  on  the  Lord,  can't  they?"  and  the 
President  had  nothing  to  say  but,  "Yes."  The 
morning  exhortations  infringed  on  our  nine 
o'clock  classes  so  that  often  they  had  to  be 
discontinued;  much  to  the  reluctance  of  the 
professors  who  had  to  bear  the  brunt  of  the 
intellectual  disqualifications  of  students  at  grad- 
uation time. 

As  the  meetings  continued,  in  the  evenings, 
the  enthusiasm  increased.  When  emotions  were 
running  at  flood  the  meetings  were  carried  well 
into  the  night  and  Thropper  and  I  often  did  not 
reach  our  room  until  eleven  o'clock  —  with  all 
opportunity  for  study  taken  away.  But  again 
the  professors  had  to  lose,  for  if  any  of  us  were 
backward  with  lessons  the  next  morning,  by  say- 
ing, "Professor,  I  was  at  the  meeting  last  night. 
I  did  not  have  any  opportunity  to  study,"  a 
proper  adjustment  was  made  in  our  favor.  For, 
as  Jason  had  said,  the  theory  at  that  time  was, 
"What  are  heads  compared  to  souls?" 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  first  Thursday 
evening's  meeting,  the  revivalist  and  his  wife 
let  it  be  known  that  "At  last  God  is  blessing 
us ! "  High  tide  had  been  reached.  That  meet- 
ing had  been  given  into  the  hands  of  the  stu- 
dents after  the  leader  had  preached  for  an  hour 
on  a  doctrinal  theme.  A  hymn  was  started  by 
a  young  woman.  She  stood  while  she  led  the 

[154] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

singing  and  at  the  conclusion  she  still  stood  erect, 
with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ceiling.  She  had 
thrown  herself  into  a  trance  and  spoke  in  a 
jumble  some  words  nobody  could  decipher  but 
which  were  understood  to  be  a  "revelation." 
That  was  the  signal  for  a  wild  demonstration. 
Jason  leaped  to  his  feet  and  after  shouting, 
"God  is  with  us!  Emmanuel!"  he  sat  shiver- 
ing in  his  seat  as  if  his  body  were  in  the  grasp 
of  angry  spirits.  A  group  of  young  women 
paraded  down  the  aisles  and  before  the  pulpit 
waving  their  handkerchiefs  and  shouting  in 
shrill  ecstasy.  Suddenly  one  of  the  young  men 
near  me  burst  into  lamentations  and  tears, 
moaning  as  if  his  heart  would  break.  Mean- 
while the  evangelists  knelt  at  the  front  of  the 
platform  in  prayer;  praying  for  people  by  name. 
Then  the  young  man  who  had  been  crying  sud- 
denly darted  to  his  feet  and  broke  into  a  tor- 
rent of  wild,  hysterical  laughter  and  ran  to  the 
upper  end  of  the  room  clapping  his  hands. 
Hymns  of  different  sorts  and  tunes  had  broken 
out  in  different  parts  of  the  room,  making  a 
musical  Babel.  The  young  woman  who  had 
had  the  trance  came  into  consciousness  again, 
and,  on  the  urgence  of  the  revivalists,  ascended 
the  platform  from  whence  she  described  a  vision 
fit  to  be  framed  in  Miltonic  verse.  At  eleven 
o'clock  hands  were  joined,  a  hymn  was  sung, 
and  after  a  benediction  from  "Pa"  Borden, 
we  went  back  to  our  rooms. 

[155] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

Then  the  revivalists  with  their  honors  full 
on  them  departed,  and  the  emotional  tension  left 
us.  It  was  a  distinct  relief,  like  a  bit  of  bird's 
chatter  after  the  epic  storm,  to  hear  "Bird" 
Thurlow  shout  across  the  walk,  one  morning, 
"Hey,  Paddy,  going  to  take  Miss  Adee  to  the 
lecture  next  Wednesday?" 


[156] 


Chapter  XVII.  My  Presidential 
Pose  and  its  Central  Place  in  « "The 
Record"  A  Wistful  Glance  and 
Some  Practical  Plans  towards 
Eastern  Education.  How  the 
Little  Sparrow  Brought  my  Class 
Colors  to  me  as  I  Gave  the  Class 
"Oration"  Ends  in  a  Fight 

IN    the    spring,    when    announcements    of 
Commencement  and   Graduation  were  in 
the  air,  a  gathering  of  four  members  of  the 
collegiate  department,  as  many  members 
of  the  preparatory  division,  two  business 
students,  and  five  who  could  not  be  classified  by 
reason  of  their  slowness  to  master  their  studies, 
met  in  response  to  a  call,  sent  out  by  the  Seniors, 
for  the  members  of  the  Freshmen  Class  to  elect 
officers,  and  after  due    deliberation  made  me 
their  president. 

With  this  honor  thrust  on  me,  I  was  immedi- 
[157] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

ately  in  a  dilemma,  for  the  main  purpose  of  the 
class  organization  was  to  have  each  member's 
photograph  in  the  Senior's  "Record,"  a  souvenir 
book  of  the  University  life.  Had  I  been  other 
than  the  president,  I  should  not  have  fretted 
about  my  inability  to  afford  a  visit  to  the  pic- 
ture gallery,  but  there  I  was:  due  to  have  my 
picture  in  the  middle  of  the  group.  I  was  in 
despair  until  finally  I  thought  of  little  Jack 
Borden,  who  owned  a  three-dollar  camera.  I 
told  him  my  predicament  and  he  consented  to 
make  a  snap-shot  of  me  for  ten  cents  that  should 
be  fit  to  be  in  the  center  of  a  group  of  "gallery 
ones"  as  he  termed  those  that  the  official  pho- 
tographer would  take. 

As  Jack  had  no  photographer's  background, 
he  snapped  me  with  my  back  to  the  flowered 
wall  paper,  and  when  the  finished  picture  was 
handed  me,  there  I  sat,  outlined  against  a  mass 
of  conventional  crocus  leaves  and  a  picture  of 
"Pa"  Borden  hung  on  the  wall  above  my  head! 
I  was  told  by  one  of  "The  Record"  Committee 
that  the  picture  would  never  be  fit  to  reproduce 
with  such  a  background:  that  it  should  be  in 
relief  against  a  plain  one.  I  returned  to  my 
room  in  despair,  but  finally  resolved  to  cut  my 
picture  out  from  the  wall  paper  and  paste  it  on 
a  piece  of  plain,  black  pasteboard.  After  going 
over  the  outline  with  the  scissors  I  finally  suc- 
ceeded in  accomplishing  the  feat  and  the  picture 
went  in  the  middle  of  the  group,  an  undignified, 

[158] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

flat,  ill-posed,  and  somewhat  jagged  outline  of 
myself,  most  conspicuous  as  "the  president." 

As  the  year  drew  to  an  end,  and  the  students 
began  to  talk  so  emotionally  of  home  and  friends, 
I  began  to  feel  that  I  had  been  long  enough  in 
exile  from  my  eastern  home  and  friendships. 
I  also  began  to  wonder  if  now  that  I  had  learned 
the  art  of  working  a  way  through  school  I  should 
not  be  more  comfortable  in  Massachusetts.  I 
had  heard  the  graduating  students  talk  of 
"Dartmouth"  and  "Boston  University"  and 
"Yale"  and  "Harvard,"  with  a  sort  of  worship- 
ful accent,  not  far  short  of  reverence.  One  or 
two  graduates  in  the  past,  so  the  local  legend 
ran,  had  even  attained  to  post-graduate  work 
in  Yale  and  Harvard!  Therefore,  as  I  heard 
this  talk,  listened  to  this  semi-worship  of  New 
England  education,  and  realized  that  it  was  my 
home,  my  own  environment,  I  also  asked  my- 
self the  question:  "Why  not  go  and  complete 
your  education  in  that  atmosphere?" 

I  mentioned  this  fact  to  Thropper.  He  said 
to  me: 

"I  have  often  wondered,  Priddy,  why  you 
came  away  out  here  for  your  education  when 
you  have  such  good  schools  in  New  England. 
I  should  think  you'd  be  able  to  work  your  way 
along  out  there  and  get  some  mighty  fine  chances. 
I  just  wish  I  had  been  an  Easterner!" 

"I've  a  good  mind  to  go  East  when  school 
closes,  Thropper,  and  try.  I  must  confess  I 

[159] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

feel  lonesome,  homesick  out  here.  I  miss  the 
ocean  and  the  hills.  I  can't  help  it.  I  suppose 
I  run  the  risk  of  not  getting  to  school  next  year, 
though,  if  I  break  off  now!'* 

"Not  if  you're  willing  to  work  as  you  have," 
said  Thropper.  "Though  I'd  hate  to  have  you 
go.  I  thought  you  might  be  my  right  hand 
man  when  I  marry,  next  fall!" 

"Marry?" 

"Yes,  in  September.  Oh,  you'll  get  an  invi- 
tation even  if  you  won't  be.  able  to  attend, 
Priddy,"  he  added,  solemnly,  "I  wouldn't  try 
to  keep  you  from  going  East  even  with  my 
wedding.  Try  it,  old  fellow,  You  owe  it  to 
yourself,  now  that  you've  got  such  a  good  start 
here.  This  place  doesn't  pretend  to  be  in  com- 
petition with  the  big  Eastern  institutions. 
Evangelical  University  is  concerned  mostly  with 
giving  a  fellow  a  start  towards  them.  The  fac- 
ulty would  be  only  too  glad  to  have  you  leave 
here,  if  they  knew  you  were  going  to  stick  to 
your  education  in  the  East." 

"I'll  do  it,  Thropper!"  I  replied. 

The  busy  season  of  Commencement  was 
ushered  in :  a  busy  time  even  for  those  of  us  who 
were  far,  very  far  from  graduation.  My  "class " 
voted  that  I  represent  them  with  an  oration  on 
"Class  Day."  No  classic,  intellectual,  or  sen- 
timental event  wras  Class  Day  at  Evangelical 
University,  but,  rather,  a  Western  outflow  of 
burlesque  and  banter.  Every  day  for  a  week  I 

[160] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

practised  my  "oration"  in  the  attic  of  the  Uni- 
versity building.  In  this  speech  I  had  put,  as 
all  previous  Class  Day  orators  had  made  a  prac- 
tise of  putting,  puns,  alliterations,  pompous 
passages,  personalities,  and  much  bathos.  I 
tried  to  perfect  myself  in  its  delivery,  not  know- 
ing just  what  experiences  I  should  encounter  on 
the  day  I  should  speak  it. 

A  wild,  untamed,  yelling,  crowding  procession 
filled  the  chapel  hall,  each  class  in  a  section  by 
itself  and  the  "orators"  seated  on  the  platform. 

It  came  my  turn.  I  stepped  to  the  front  and 
raised  my  hand  for  the  first  word  when  sud- 
denly the  class  next  above  mine  yelled,  poked  up 
slang  signs,  and  then  from  the  square  venti- 
lator hole  high  above  my  head  darted  a  sparrow 
with  a  trailing  streamer  of  our  class  ribbon 
fluttering  from  its  tail.  At  every  sentence, 
nearly  every  word,  I  had  to  pause  on  account 
of  the  yellings,  the  banter,  and  the  interruptions 
caused  by  flying  hats  and  scudding  pieces  of 
pasteboard.  After  about  a  half  hour  of  disci- 
plined posing,  I  finally  concluded  the  "oration" 
amid  the  admiring  plaudits  of  my  class.  Thus 
orator  followed  orator,  each  one  outdoing  the 
other  with  satire,  pun,  and  rhetorical  nonsense. 
To  the  accompaniment  of  a  thudding  fight  which 
was  taking  place  between  the  representatives  of 
two  classes  over  our  heads  where  the  bird  had 
been  sent  down,  Class  Day  came  to  an  end,  and 
my  active  life  at  Evangelical  University  likewise. 

[161J 


Chapter  XVI I L  Thropper  Un- 
folds Something  Better  than 
Canned  Foods.  A  Lesson  with 
the  Flat  Iron.  Thropper  Proposes 
that  I  Chaperone  Horses 

'"W"         "W'OW  are  you  going  to  get  back  to 

I I     Massachusetts,    Priddy?"    asked 

Thropper   when    I    was    shuffling 
some   photographs    which   I   had 
taken  down  from  a  wire  rack  on 
the  wall. 

"Oh,  I'll  have  to  try  to  get  work  in  a  fac- 
tory or  on  a  farm  about  here,"  I  answered, 
"until  I  earn  my  fare!" 

"Have  you  any  definite  work  planned  for, 
yet?" 

"No,  but  I  thought  I'd  go  out  this  afternoon 
and  see  what  I  might  pick  up.     I  could  keep 
this  room  and  board  myself,  Thropper." 
He  made  a  wry  face,  and  blurted  out : 
"Warmed  over  canned  beans,  ugh!" 
"What  do  you  mean,  old  fellow?" 
[162] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"Boarding  yourself  —  canned  soups,  canned 
meats,  canned  everything  —  ugh!" 

"That's  what  your  wife  will  feed  you  on  — 
at  first,  while  she  learns  to  cook,  Thropper," 
I  laughed.  "Perhaps  you'll  prefer  canned 
things!" 

"Is  that  so?"  he  retorted,  with  some  show  of 
heat.  "Well,  that's  all  you  know  about  things. 
She  can  cook  already :  you  just  wait  till  you  taste 
some  of  her  cooking.  Canned  things  —  ugh!" 

"Well,"  I  sighed,  "I've  little  choice!" 

"How  would  you  like  to  spend  the  summer 
at  a  neat  little  hotel  in  Michigan?" 

"Thropper!" 

"And  room  in  a  little  cottage  in  the  midst 
of  a  little  grove  of  pines,  near  little  sandhills, 
among  a  little  group  of  the  finest  fellows  in  the 
world  —  college  students?"  continued  Throp- 
per, with  a  smile. 

"A  little  bit  too  much  imagination  in  your 
little  talk,  my  dear  little  fellow!"  I  retorted. 

"And  go  down  to  the  beach  every  day  for  a 
bath  among  the  big  waves,  and  go  boating  and 
fishing;  seeing  the  great  crowds  of  excursion- 
ists and  vacationists!" 

"Go  on,"  I  gasped,  "have  it  out,  Thropper,  if 
you  particularly  enjoy  the  stunt!" 

"Food,"  continued  my  room-mate,  "well,  let 
me  see:  strawberry  shortcake  a  la  much,  mut- 
ton chops  with  bacon  a  la  juicy,  calves'  brains 
on  toast  a  la  delicious,  hashed  browned  pota- 

[163] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

toes  a  la  second  helping,  and  for  desserts:  cream 
and  jellies,  sherberts  and  pies  - 

-  A  la  imagination,  eh,  Thropper,"  I  inter- 
rupted. 

My  room-mate's  rugged  face  was  overspread 
with  a  grin.  He  clapped  me  over  the  shoulder 
and  said,  continuing  his  whim: 

"To  enjoy  many  beautiful,  moon-lit  hours, 
watching  the  glint  of  the  phosphorescent  waves 
as  they  twinkle  like  fairy  lights  over  the  broad 
expanse  of  Lake  Michigan;  to — " 

"Look  out,  Thropper,"  I  exclaimed  at  this 
poetic  outburst,  "or  you'll  be  crowding  the 
spring  poets  out  of  a  job!" 

"To  roam  at  will  through  the  shady  groves, 
over  the  sand  dunes,  to  hear  the  orchestral  music, 
the  light  plash  of  the  waves  against  the  pier 
while  you  hold  a  fish-line  in  the  water;  to  loll 
on  the  fragrant  pine  needles  and  read,  muse, 
rest,  and  be  inspired:  what  do  you  think  of  that 
for  a  program  for  the  next  three  months, 
Priddy?" 

"Ask  a  Mohammedan  what  he  thinks  of  Par- 
adise or  an  exiled  Prince  what  he  thinks  of  a 
Kingdom,  Thropper?" 

"Then,"  continued  Thropper,  "the  whole 
experience  not  to  cost  you  a  cent:  rather  you 
are  to  be  paid  at  the  rate  of  four  dollars  a  week : 
wages  for  a  treat  like  that,  Priddy :  what  do  you 
think  of  that?" 

"It  is  impossible  for  me  to  think  about  such 
[164] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

a  prospect,  Thropper,  my  imagination  is  in- 
toxicated!" 

"Then  you  will  go!" 

I  looked  at  Thropper  as  if  he  had  parted  with 
his  senses. 

"What  an  actor  you  are,  Thropper.  One 
would  imagine  you  serious  in  all  this!" 

"Of  course  I'm  serious!"  he  announced.  "I 
am  merely  offering  you  the  chance  to  go  with 
Brock  and  myself  to  Macatawa,  Michigan,  to 
wait  on  table  at  one  of  the  hotels  there." 

"Oh!" 

"But  all  the  things  I  have  enumerated, 
Priddy,  are  facts  and  not  dreams.  The  work 
is  very  easy:  six  hours  a  day;  two  hours  a  meal, 
with  the  interims  filled  with  all  sorts  of  good 
times.  What  do  you  say?  Our  railway  fares 
and  steamer  passages  will  be  sent  and  later 
will  be  deducted  from  our  wages.  Will  you 
go?" 

"Do  they  let  the  waiters  eat  calves'  brains  on 
toast,  Thropper?"  I  asked,  seriously. 

"Extra  orders  which  are  not  taken,"  he 
responded. 

"Of  course  I'll  go,  old  fellow.  It  will  be  a 
wonderful  chance,  won't  it?" 

"It  will  give  you  a  good  chance  to  get  a  rest, 
Priddy,"  he  averred,  solemnly.  "Your  poor, 
pinched  body  needs  it!" 

"When  do  we  leave?" 

"In  two  days;  soon  as  Brock  gets  word  to 
[165] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

the  hotel  that  we  are  coming.  I  can  lend  you 
some  collars  and  things  till  we  get  there." 

"The  first  month's  wages  are  to  go  for 
clothes,"  I  announced.  "All  aboard  for  Ma-cat- 
a-wa:  last  call  for  dinner!"  I  cried,  and  then 
Thropper  and  I,  sharers  of  confidences  and  of 
dreams,  linked  arms  and  waltzed  crazily  around 
the  room  —  for  sheer  joy. 

One  week  after  having  waltzed  with  Thropper 
over  the  creaky  boards  of  the  dormitory,  I  found 
myself  adjusted  to  a  new  phase  of  existence, 
delicious  and  inspiring  in  its  every  aspect. 
After  a  lifetime  spent  in  the  midst  of  places 
where  toil  and  only  toil  held  the  boards:  after 
twenty  years'  vision  of  strenuous  tasks  done  by 
those  about  me,  in  mills,  shops,  and  on  the 
street,  at  last  I  found  myself  in  the  midst  of  a 
place  set  apart  to  idleness:  where  the  indolent 
were  given  the  palm  branch,  and  where  wTork, 
for  a  wonder,  found  itself,  even  by  honorable 
people,  spurned  as  a  thing  out  of  place. 

The  six  hours'  work  a  day  put  at  my  com- 
mand all  the  recreational  advantages  of  the 
resort:  the  shapely  sand  dunes,  the  board- 
walks through  cool,  shaded  pine  groves,  the 
smooth,  sandy,  slippery  beach  down  which  one 
walked  past  artists'  studios,  soap  box  shanties, 
and  pretentious  pillared  cottages.  And  the 
water!  We  bathed  by  day  and  by  night.  In 
it  we  fished  and  raced.  Over  it  we  rowed  in 
boats  that  were  tossed  like  light  corks  from 

[166] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

engulfing  wave  to  engulfing  waves,  while  the 
life-boat  man  from  the  pier  kept  a  sharp  eye  on 
our  adventure.  By  its  edge  on  a  moon-light 
night  we  built  a  chain  of  fires  and  in  the  flames 
of  them  we  roasted  marshmallows,  sang  songs, 
and  passed  all  sorts  of  banter. 

In  the  dining-hall  I  met  my  fellow  waiters 
and  waitresses:  college  students,  all  of  them, 
from  different  parts  of  the  country.  The  orches- 
tra, at  dinner,  played  complimentary  college 
tunes  in  our  honor:  our  guests  broke  down  all 
perfunctory  relations  and  intimately  entered 
into  our  ambitions.  While  waiting  for  the 
arrival  of  guests  at  breakfast  the  waiters  stood 
under  a  wooden  canopy  in  the  hotel  yard  and 
ironed  napkins  and  towels.  Of  course  neither 
Thropper  nor  I  were  very  expert  in  the  laundry, 
but  that  did  not  excuse  us  from  it.  One  day  the 
Irishwoman,  who  was  proprietor  of  the  hotel, 
came  and  investigated  the  laundry.  She  paid 
particular  attention  to  the  manner  in  which  I 
conducted  the  flat-iron  over  the  towels.  After 
watching  me  for  some  moments,  during  which, 
for  a  woman,  she  maintained  a  severe  and  ter- 
rible silence,  during  which  perspiration  poured 
down  my  face,  she  suddenly  exploded  with 
laughter  and  said: 

"Ah,  ah!  You  should  see  Mister  Priddy  use 
his  iron.  It's  a  rale  treat.  He  is  that  gentle 
on  the  cloths!  I  want  you  all  to  come  around 
and  take  a  lesson.  You  girls  now,"  she  indi- 

[167] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

cated  some  of  the  college  girls,  "have  been  doing 
it  wrong  all  the  time!"  She  laughed  loudly, 
as  they  gathered  about  my  board. 

Taking  the  iron  gingerly  in  her  massive,  red, 
and  scarred  hand,  the  Irishwoman  very  gently 
tipped  the  back  edge  of  it  on  a  towel  and  delib- 
erately, though  exactly,  drew  the  iron  backward 
several  times,  lifting  it  from  the  board  to  carry 
it  forward. 

"That's  the  way  Mr.  Priddy  says  you  ought 
to  iron!"  she  shouted,  her  burly  face  reddening 
with  merriment,  as  she  noticed  my  chagrin. 
"It's  backwards  and  not  forwards  that  you 
should  iron,  all  of  ye ! "  and  then  she  sat  down  on 
a  bench  in  the  midst  of  a  most  industrious  crowd 
of  laughing  boys  and  girls.  After  the  fun,  she 
took  the  iron  in  hand  in  an  endeavor  to  show  me 
the  true,  laundry  method  of  using  a  flat-iron. 

All  the  tricks,  the  horse-plays,  the  trivial  but 
welcome  expressions  of  fun  that  crowd  them- 
selves into  a  college  life,  were  indulged  at  the 
hotel  by  the  waiters  and  waitresses.  A  group 
of  Michigan  students  lived  in  a  long,  loosely- 
built  shanty  in  the  yard,  on  the  doors  of  which 
they  had  painted  its  name:  "Lover's  Roost,'* 
and  the  better  to  carry  out  the  fancy  of  its 
being  a  roost,  the  boys  were  in  the  habit  of 
receiving  expected  visitors,  who  came  to  inspect 
their  quarters,  perched  on  the  upper  beams, 
above  the  partitions,  flapping  their  hands  and 
crowing  like  lusty,  gigantic  roosters! 

[168] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

The  season  rushed  past  in  its  merry  whirl. 
Tired  muscles  relaxed,  taut  nerves  slacked, 
weary  bodies  gained  repose,  there  on  the  sand 
dunes,  amid  parties,  fetes,  musicales,  and  pic- 
nics. The  first  chill  winds  from  the  lake  wafted 
hordes  of  people  back  to  work,  and  soon  left 
the  hotel  nearly  unpeopled. 

As  the  day  approached  when  I  should  have  to 
leave,  I  found  that  I  had  saved  but  a  trifle 
out  of  my  earnings:  the  money  had  gone  for  a 
much-needed,  but  not  expensive,  ward-robe.  I 
counted  over  my  change  and  found  that  I  did 
not  have  enough  money  left  with  which  to 
purchase  a  ticket  for  so  far  away  a  place  as 
Massachusetts.  I  mentioned  the  matter  to 
Thropper.  He,  in  turn,  in  that  generous  way 
of  his,  began  to  plan  for  me.  One  day  he 
came  and  said: 

"Priddy,  you  know  Gloomer,  the  fellow  from 
Indiana  State  University;  well,  if  you  go  down 
to  Indianapolis  with  him,  he'll  see  that  you  get 
a  chance  to  go  on  a  freight  train  as  far  as  New 
York;  from  there  you'll  have  enough  to  get 
home,  won't  you?" 

"Yes.  A  freight  train,  you  say?  As  a  tramp, 
riding  on  the  axles?"  I  gasped,  with  an  inward 
shudder  at  the  thought  of  such  a  desperate  ride. 

"Of  course  not!"  declared  Thropper. 
"  You'd  go  in  the  caboose.  We'd  send  you  with 
a  load  of  horses,  you  know.  You'd  be  the  man 
in  charge;  to  feed  them." 

[169] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"But  I  don't  know  anything  about  horses, 
Thropper." 

"You  don't  have  to  know  anything  about 
them,"  he  said,  with  a  smile.  "It's  just  a  tech- 
nical way  of  expressing  it.  You  see,  when  the 
horse  dealers  send  a  carload  of  horses  East, 
they  are  entitled  to  a  representative  to  go 
along  and  take  care  of  them.  You'd  be  the 
representative.  Gloomer  could  give  you  a  line 
to  an  Indianapolis  sales  stable.  They'd  do  the 
rest — as  far  as  New  York.  What  do  you 
say!" 

In  a  wild  moment  of  incautious  self-confi- 
dence, I  responded: 

"Anything  to  get  to  New  York,  Thropper." 

"It's  settled,  then,"  he  responded.  "Albert 
Priddy,  horse  chaperone,  I  salute  thee,"  and  he 
gravely  saluted  me.  "When  will  his  lordship 
occupy  his  caboose?"  he  went  on  in  good- 
humored  raillery. 

"As  soon  as  I  can  get  it!"  I  replied. 


[170] 


Chapter  XIX.  A  Chapter 
Which  Has  to  do  with  a  Series  of 
Exciting  Affairs  that  Occurred 
between  the  W^est  and  the  East, 
and  Which  are  Better  to  Read 
about  than  to  Endure 


i 


f  |  fHROPPER  accompanied  me  to  the 
wharf  in  Chicago  where,  so  far  as 
I  was  able  to  judge,  we  were  to  part 
forever.  The  manner  of  our  part- 
ing was  as  follows: 
Thropper  insisted  on  carrying  my  suit-case, 
though  his  own  was  loaded  to  excess.  On  cross- 
ing a  street  to  enter  the  railroad  station,  I  half 
stumbled,  blunderingly,  under  the  heavy  hoofs 
of  a  dray  horse  which  a  swearing  driver  had 
pulled  shortly  into  the  air,  when  Thropper,  by 
a  lunge  at  my  back  with  his  heavy  suit-case, 
startled  me  into  such  action,  that  I  lurched 
ahead  and  away  from  danger. 

"Thanks,  old  fellow!"    I  called,  above  the 
roar  of  the  traffic. 

[171] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

My  train  was  announced,  and  as  I  gripped  my 
suit-case,  Thropper  blurted  out: 

"Well,  Priddy,  I  wish  you  luck:  plenty  of 
it!" 

"Well,"  I  stammered,  in  return,  "you've 
certainly  been  good  to  me,  Thropper.  I  shall 
never  forget  it!" 

"I  shall  miss  you,  Priddy!" 

"Maybe  I  shan't  miss  you,  old  fellow!"  I 
said  hoarsely,  for  I  was  on  the  verge  of  tears. 

"God  bless  you!"  cried  Thropper,  with  an 
effort.  "God  be  with  you!" 

"Make  a  man  of  yourself,  old  fellow!"  I 
replied. 

One  moment  of  profound,  tearful  silence, 
with  our  hands  tightly  clasped,  and  then  I  broke 
away  and  ran  as  fast  as  I  could  towards  my 
train,  pretending  by  that  action  that  I  might 
be  in  danger  of  losing  my  train,  though  my 
only  intention  was  to  be  by  myself,  where,  un- 
seen, I  could  baptize  this  parting  from  Thropper 
with  unrestrained,  heartfelt  tears. 

The  brick-paved  and  marvellously  wide 
streets  of  Indianapolis  were  oppressively  hot 
when  I  arrived  in  the  city,  with  Gloomer's 
letter  of  introduction  to  the  sales-stable  man- 
ager in  my  possession.  I  had  to  spend  two  days 
in  the  city  before  a  regular  auction  day  arrived 
when  it  would  be  possible  for  me  to  make  a 
contract  with  the  manager.  I  had  been  told 
that  the  psychological  time  to  approach  the 

[172] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

horse-dealer  would  be  at  a  sale  when  a  carload 
or  two  of  horses  would  be  made  up. 

During  my  wait,  I  had  to  harvest  my  cash 
diligently,  for  fear  of  getting  stranded  on  the 
way.  The  four  dollars  in  my  pocket  seemed 
indescribably  trivial  when  measured  against 
the  gigantic  journey  I  had  between  Indian- 
apolis and  New  York  City.  I  went  on  a  side 
street  and  searched  among  the  cheaper  lodging- 
houses  until  I  found  one  whose  red,  illuminated 
sign  told  me  that  beds  there  were  fifteen  cents 
a  night.  I  went  in,  talked  with  a  wizened-faced 
tramp  of  a  man,  and  was  shown  up  a  flight  of 
back  stairs  into  a  large,  dirty-papered  room,  in 
which  stood  a  wooden  bedstead  with  dampish, 
musty  coverings.  As  I  slept  that  night,  I  was 
awakened  by  loud  quarrelsome  voices  in  the 
back  kitchen,  and  from  what  I  heard,  I  realized 
that  I  was  sleeping  in  a  thieves'  lodging-house. 
After  that,  I  found  myself  waking  up  in  nervous 
fright  every  few  minutes,  expecting  to  see  the 
door  open  while  some  villain  entered  with  a  knife 
or  gun  to  strip  me  of  what  little  I  owned!  It 
was  a  night  of  horror,  of  wakeful,  excited,  dread. 
I  was  afraid  to  sleep,  and  yet  I  kept  waking, 
hour  after  hour,  with  the  consciousness  that  I 
had  given  in  to  sleep,  and  had  made  it  possible 
for  some  one  to  overpower  me.  Then  early 
morning  dawned,  without  any  accident  befalling 
me,  and  I  seized  upon  an  excuse  to  leave.  I 
went  downstairs  very  stealthily  and  confronted 

[173] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

three  ragged,  evil-faced  men  who  were  sitting  on 
chairs,  smoking  with  the  landlord.  I  emptied  a 
half  dozen  soiled  collars  on  the  table  and  said: 

"I  haven't  time  to  have  these  laundered, 
and  don't  need  them.  You  may  have  them  - 
if  they  fit.  I  wear  fifteens.  I  have  to  leave 
early.  Here  is  my  lodging  fee  for  the  night. 
Good  morning!"  and  without  another  word  I 
rushed  from  the  house,  hoping  that  the  men 
would  imagine  that  my  excitement  was  due  to 
fear  of  losing  a  train  rather  than  to  any  dread 
of  them! 

The  only  sight-seeing  I  accomplished  in 
Indianapolis  came  in  a  long  walk  I  took  past 
the  freight  yards,  at  the  end  of  which  I  came  to 
a  tomato  ketchup  factory,  where,  for  two  hours, 
I  watched  a  carload  of  ripe  and  otherwise 
tomatoes  unloaded  in  barrows  and  carted  into 
the  store  vats.  Then  I  hurried  back  to  the 
stables,  for  a  sale  was  due  for  late  afternoon, 
and  my  heart  was  centred  entirely  upon  the 
hope  of  securing  the  ride  to  New  York  City. 

Guided  by  the  snap  of  whips  and  the  strident 
calls  of  the  auctioneer,  I  entered  a  dim  vault 
of  a  place,  where  the  sale  was  in  progress.  After 
the  glare  of  the  sun  had  worn  itself  out  of  my 
eyes,  I  found  myself  on  the  outer  edge  of  a  large 
group  of  horse-dealers,  watching  the  animals 
put  through  their  paces  and  holding  up  fingers 
to  the  auctioneer. 

After  the  sales  had  been  concluded,  I  ap- 
[174] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

preached  a  cubby-hole,  which  was  filled  with 
stale  tobacco  smoke  through  which  I  had  a 
view  of  lithographs  of  race  horses.  The  man- 
ager of  the  stables  sat  at  his  desk,  apparently 
not  busy,  but  eloquent  in  cigar  smoke  over  the 
sales  he  had  made  that  day.  He  had  a  blown, 
raw  face,  as  red  as  his  sunset  shirt  bosom  and 
dotted  with  unshaved  blotches  of  bristles.  His 
thin  nose  had  been  turned  aside  by  a  blow  of 
some  sort,  his  mild  blue  eyes  might  not  have 
been  out  of  place  in  a  woman's  head.  However, 
on  seeing  me  hesitate,  and  probably  knowing 
from  my  abject,  petitioning  manner,  that  I 
was  after  some  favor,  he  flavored  the  air  with 
an  oath  and  tacked  on  an  impatient  demand  as 
to  my  wants.  I  thereupon  unfolded  what  was 
in  my  heart,  and  in  the  nervousness  of  the 
moment,  instead  of  handing  him  Gloomer's 
letter  of  introduction,  gave  him,  instead,  my 
pocket  comb.  Then  I  thought  he  would  horse- 
whip me,  but,  instead,  he  laughed,  and  said: 

"Well,  you're  a  thoroughbred,  ain't  ye! 
What's  this?" 

I  thereupon  exchanged  the  comb  for  the  let- 
ter, which  he  took  with  some  show  of  interest. 
After  reading  it  he  said: 

"Why,  I'd  ship  you  to  Jericho,  if  I  was  send- 
ing bosses  that  fur,  but  only  thing  I  can  do's 
to  send  ye  to  Buffalo.  You'll  mebbe  get  an- 
other haul  from  there,  though  I  can't  say." 

I  thought  of  the  small  amount  of  money  in 
[175] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

my  pocket,  and  of  the  distance  at  which  I 
found  myself  from  home,  and  then  said: 

"I  was  told  that  you  might  be  able  to  ship 
me  to  New  York,  sir.  I  need  the  lift.  I  have 
less  than  five  dollars." 

"Sorry,  kid,"  he  muttered.  "Buffalo's  best 
thing  in  the  ring  for  a  week  or  more.  Good  day, 
sonny ! " 

"But  I'll  take  the  chance  to  Buffalo,"  I 
gasped,  fearful  that  he  would  turn  me  off  en- 
tirely. "I'll  be  very  thankful  for  that  much 
of  a  ride,  sir." 

He  opened  a  drawer  and  wrote  several  items 
on  a  yellow  way  bill  which  he  handed  to  me. 

"Shove  that  in  yer  pocket  and  skedaddle, 
sonny,"  he  said.  "I  wish  yer  joy  in  yer  eju- 
cation,  though  I  don't  in  hang  know  what  ye'll 
do  with  it  when  yer  got  it;  plant  corn,  in  all 
likelihood.  S'long!  Train  leaves  at  half -past 
six:  freight  yard.  Numbers  of  the  cars  on  the 
pass!" 

At  six  o'clock  I  appeared  in  the  terminal 
freight  yards  with  a  bag  of  three-cent  egg  sand- 
wiches under  one  arm  and  with  my  slate-colored 
suit  case  bumping  against  my  shins.  It  was 
not  until  I  reached  the  yards  and  beheld  the 
illimitable  maze  of  tracks  and  the  innumerable 
dragon-like  trains  of  freight  cars  and  the  hive 
of  busy,  shifting  engines  that  were  making  up 
trains,  that  I  realized  how  wise  I  had  been  by 
coming  a  half  hour  early.  I  asked  a  switch- 

[176] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

man  where  I  should  find  the  freight  which  left 
for  Buffalo  at  half-past  six.  Then  I  realized 
still  more  acutely  that  my  difficulties  were  only 
begun,  for  after  he  had  whirled  the  lever  over 
and  allowed  the  section  of  shunted  cars  to  rattle 
past,  he  turned  to  me  and  with  a  very  decided 
and  pugilistic  gesture,  asked  me  if  I  would 
not  immediately  consign  myself  and  all  my 
ancestors  to  a  very  negative  theological  place. 
I  stumbled  over  the  switches  and  as  I  went 
felt  the  hot,  resentful  glare  of  the  railroad  crews, 
as  they  refused  me  the  information  I  sought 
and  spiced  their  refusals  with  peppery  idioms. 
They  would  have  buffeted  me  had  I  not  been 
armed  by  the  pass.  Finally,  knowing  that  I 
was  in  danger  of  losing  my  train,  I  entered  the 
switch-house  and  after  I  had  gulped  a  stomach- 
ful  of  pipe-smoke,  one  of  the  men  told  me  that 
I  should  find  the  train  if  I  would  look  for  the 
numbers  of  the  cars  which  were  written  on  the 
pass.  So  I  went  out  in  the  dim  twilight  and 
tried  to  match  numbers,  which  to  my  startled, 
nervous  imagination  looked  like  5467990099- 
3259  and  563780533255555555573275,  but  which, 
in  reality,  were  an  inch  or  two  shorter!  Finally 
I  found  the  two  numbers,  and  then  I  eagerly 
ran  down  the  length  of  the  train  until  I  came  to 
the  caboose.  I  climbed  up  the  steps,  opened 
the  dusty  door  and  was  immediately  greeted 
by  the  angry  gaze  of  the  conductor  and  brake- 
men  who  were  busy  with  some  sort  of  schedules. 

[177] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

As  I  humbly  presented  my  pass  to  the  con- 
ductor, and  when  it  was  made  known  to  the 
crew  that  I  was  to  be  their  guest  in  the  com- 
fortable caboose,  they  immediately  gave  me  a 
lurid  and  explicit  welcome:  one  that  made  me 
shiver.  Genealogical  connections  of  a  hitherto 
unknown  nature  were  ascribed  to  me;  to  them  I 
appeared  as  one  of  the  brood  of  imps  from  that 
negative  theological  place,  and  various  exciting 
and  blood-bringing  adjectives  were  loaded  on 
me  that  made  my  flesh  quiver.  The  conduc- 
tor, after  generously  and  minutely  explaining 
how  undesirable  was  my  presence  in  that  ca- 
boose, going  into  the  minutest  details  of  my 
personal  limitations,  sent  me,  shuddering,  over 
to  the  opposite  side  of  the  car,  as  far  away  as 
possible  from  his  presence,  where  I  found  a 
padded  window  seat  which  was  to  be  my  bed 
overnight. 

When  the  train  started,  and  the  crew  were 
sitting  around  with  nothing  to  do,  I  tried  to 
enter  into  conversation  with  one  of  them.  But 
I  was  persona  non  grata;  of  a  different  caste,  I 
was  told  to  "hang  my  lip  on  the  clothes-hook," 
a  grewsome  feat  and  quite  a  poetic  conception. 
The  window,  a  little  square  one,  was  high  above 
my  head.  I  stood  on  the  seat  in  the  attempt 
to  look  through  it  into  the  night.  Immedia- 
ately  I  was  told  to  "switch  off."  Then  I  made 
myself  comfortable  for  the  night  by  spreading 
myself  at  full  length  on  the  seat.  After  a  time, 

[178] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

the  fumes  of  the  lamp  drugged  me  into  a  doze, 
and  then  the  thunder  of  the  freight  and  the  dull, 
dull  rumble  of  the  train  crew's  voices  sent  me 
off  into  a  fretful,  but  long  sleep.  In  the 
morning,  when  I  opened  my  eyes,  and  looked 
out  of  the  back  door  window,  we  were  passing 
stations  in  Ohio.  The  morning  was  very 
pleasant,  and  thinking  that  a  whole  night  of 
my  presence  might  have  made  the  train  crew 
tolerant,  I  ascended  into  the  lookout,  above 
the  roof  of  the  caboose,  where,  from  the 
cushioned  seat,  I  could  make  a  splendid  observa- 
tion of  country  through  which  we  were  passing. 
But  my  joy  was  short-lived.  Immediately  the 
thunders  of  the  conductor  called  me  down  and 
I  was  sternly  ordered  to  "sit  down  where  you 
belong,"  a  command  which  was  followed  by 
a  descriptive  phrase  which  linked  me  to  a  low 
and  disreputable  order  of  creation. 

By  nine  o'clock  we  brought  up  in  the  Cleve- 
land yards,  where  a  new  caboose  and  a  new 
train  were  to  be  fastened  to  the  freight.  I 
was  told  to  "grab"  my  belongings  and  "git  the- 
twelfth-letter-of-the-alphabet  out  of  this!" 
which  I  did,  and  found,  when  I  got  to  the  ground, 
that  the  freight  train  had  gone  off  and  left  the 
caboose  standing  in  the  yard.  Then  I  went  on 
a  frightful,  heart-thumping  search  for  the  two 
cars  with  the  long  numbers  on  them:  not  spend- 
ing any  time  to  be  rebuffed  by  the  yard  men. 
I  leaped  from  track  to  track  and  searched  car 

[179] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

after  car  until,  at  last,  I  found  the  numbers  I 
wanted,  and  by  following  out  the  length  of  the 
train,  came  to  the  new  caboose. 

In  this  second  caboose  I  resolved  not  to  irri- 
tate the  crew,  and  to  this  end  I  made  myself 
comfortable  in  my  allotted  place,  took  off  my 
boots,  put  on  a  pair  of  tennis  shoes,  and  read  a 
book  I  had  in  my  suit-case.  When  the  train 
finally  entered  the  Buffalo  freight  yards  I  was 
hurried  out,  as  the  conductor  wanted  to  lock 
the  caboose  without  the  loss  of  a  minute.  When 
I  got  to  the  ground,  in  my  hurry,  and  after  the 
conductor  had  locked  the  door  and  left  me 
standing  dazed,  I  found  that  I  had  left  my 
shoes  in  the  caboose.  But  no  amount  of  search 
for  the  conductor  succeeded,  and  finally  one  of 
the  railroad  men  told  me  that  I  might  as  well 
give  up  the  search,  especially  as  the  caboose 
had  been  whirled  out  of  sight  by  a  switching 
engine.  So  I  went  into  the  city  with  my  suit- 
case and  ,my  lean  purse,  determined  to  visit 
the  sales  stables  and  stock-yards,  until  I  should 
find  a  chance  to  ride  on  to  New  York  City.  I 
realized  that  if  I  should  ever  arrive  in  New 
York  I  should  not  have  enough  money  to  carry 
me  home,  but  I  followed  a  blind  instinct  which 
seemed  to  tell  me  that,  New  York  attained, 
"something  would  turn  up." 

In  one  of  the  back  streets  of  Buffalo  I  found 
a  Temperance  Hotel,  where  beds  and  rooms 
were  fifteen  cents  a  day.  The  hotel  had  in  its 

[180] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

frowsy  lobby  a  group  of  unkempt  men  who 
seemed  to  be  temperate  in  one  thing  more 
strikingly  than  another,  —  work,  for  during 
any  part  of  the  day  I  found  them  there  tipped 
back  in  the  chairs  holding  their  conferences  on 
momentous  matters.  I  left  my  umbrella  with 
the  clerk  for  collateral,  and  told  him  that  fur- 
ther security  for  my  board  would  be  my  suit- 
case which  was  certainly  worth  thirty-five 
cents.  I  had  a  good  thirty-cent  dinner  in  the 
dining-room,  and  then  went  out  to  visit  the 
stock  yards  of  the  city. 

When  I  saw  the  multitude  of  cattle  pens, 
near  the  railroad,  and  saw  them  filled  with 
sheep  and  cattle,  I  estimated  that  in  them  alone 
were  two  hundred  and  fifty  possible  trips  to 
the  end  of  the  world;  but  when  I  entered  the 
lobby  of  the  Stockman's  Hotel  and  tried  to  get 
the  influence  of  the  cattle-buyers  towards  a 
pass,  they  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  me. 
Thus  rebuffed,  I  went  the  rounds  of  the  sales 
stables,  of  which  there  were  many  facing  the 
stock  pens.  In  these  I  was  told  there  were 
no  sales  on  just  then,  but  that  if  anything  turned 
up  they  would  see  what  they  could  do.  That 
gave  me  hope,  so  I  said  that  I  would  call  on 
them  during  the  next  day. 

During  this  wait  I  found  that  my  money  was 
nearly  gone.  I  had  fifty  cents  on  hand  for 
board.  I  asked  a  disreputable  fellow,  near 
the  Temperance  Hotel,  where  I  could  get  some 

[181] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

cheap  meals.  He  pointed  to  the  next  street 
and  told  me  that  they  had  three-cent  meals  in 
some  of  the  eating  houses  there.  That  evening 
I  indulged  hi  a  three-cent  supper.  It  con- 
sisted of  a  dish  of  beans,  a  slice  of  bread,  some 
"butter"  and  a  cup  of  coffee.  I  went  to  the 
same  place  for  breakfast  the  next  morning  and 
for  three  cents  secured  a  cup  of  coffee,  a  dough- 
nut, and  a  dish  of  stew.  That  morning  a  heavy 
rain  began  to  fall,  and,  for  the  first  time,  I  began 
to  miss  the  shoes  I  had  left  in  the  caboose.  I  had 
on  a  suit  of  good  clothes,  so  that  the  worn  tennis 
shoes  on  my  feet  were  all  the  more  startling;  but 
when  the  streets  were  filled  wTith  running  brooks 
of  rain  through  which  I  was  forced  to  walk, 
it  was  not  merely  a  matter  of  appearance  with 
me,  but  a  matter  of  comfort.  On  my  way  to 
the  stock-yards  to  see  what  the  sales  stables 
could  do  for  me,  my  feet  were  uncomfortably 
soaked  to  the  skin.  The  canvas  tops  of  the 
shoes  were  like  mops.  Every  step  I  took  on 
the  sidewalk  was  the  cause  of  a  soggy,  mop- 
pish  slop.  I  expected  the  first  policeman  to 
arrest  me  as  a  suspicious  character. 

I  went  from  stable  to  stable,  and  at  each  one 
asked  in  a  tremulous  voice  if  they  were  about 
to  send  any  horses  to  New  York  or  Boston  in 
the  near  future,  but  neither  sales  nor  shipments 
were  being  made.  I  tried  to  interest  some  of 
the  stock-drovers  in  the  cattle  yards  in  my 
affairs,  but  evidently  I  bored  them.  I  paid 

[182] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

another,  desperate  visit  to  the  Stockman's 
Hotel,  but  the  cattle  buyers  would  not  give  me 
a  word  of  encouragement  towards  a  pass  to 
New  York  City. 

After  this  I  returned  to  the  heart  of  the  city 
and  began  to  plan  against  absolute  starvation. 
Even  with  three-cent  meals  I  could  not  have 
a  much  longer  time  to  eat  unless  I  obtained  some 
more  money.  Then  I  felt  the  bulge  of  my 
nickel-plated  watch,  in  my  vest  pocket.  I  had 
paid  a  dollar  for  it  and  had  used  it  for  two 
years.  It  had  been  purchased  second-hand 
from  a  mill  friend  and  had  originally  cost 
not  more  than  three  dollars.  I  hurried  to  a 
pawn-broker's  shop  and  said,  eagerly,  as  I 
handed  the  shopman  the  weighty  time-piece: 

:<You  can  have  this  at  your  own  price  —  I 
don't  care  how  much  you  offer.  I  need  the 
money ! " 

He  tossed  the  watch  in  the  palm  of  his  hand, 
then  laughed,  and  as  he  handed  it  back  to  me 
he  said,  impatiently: 

"G'wan!  It  ain't  wuth  a  flea!  I  wouldn't 
buy  dat  t'ing  fer  junk!  Git!" 

Disconsolately  I  passed  out,  with  the  shop- 
man's scornful  eyes  on  me,  and  the  gaze  of  a 
burly  negro  and  his  wife  following  me.  I  had 
no  sooner  reached  the  sidewalk,  however,  than 
the  negro  came  out  and  said: 

"Say,  how  much  yo'  want  fo'  dat  watch?" 

The  negro's  wife  appeared,  and  from  their 
[183] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

excessive  interest  in  the  watch  I  knew  that  they 
would  purchase  it  if  I  should  put  out  an  entic- 
ing price.  I  cogitated  in  my  mind  as  to  how 
much  I  might  have  to  pay  for  a  pair  of  second- 
hand shoes,  and  then  said: 

"Fifty  cents!  Keeps  good  time,  too,  see!" 
The  negro  took  the  watch  in  his  hand,  and 
evidently  it  was  the  enormous  size  of  it  rather 
than  its  efficiency  as  a  time-keeper  that  inter- 
ested him,  for  he  spent  more  time  gazing  on  its 
back  than  he  did  in  contemplating  its  works. 
He  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pockets  and  gave 
me  a  fifty  cent  piece  which,  just  then,  looked 
as  round  and  golden  as  a  harvest  moon,  but 
more  tangible. 

I  hurried  from  the  negro  as  swiftly  as  I  could 
in  fear  that  he  might  repent  and  ask  for  a 
return  of  the  precious  coin.  I  hastened  down  a 
side  street,  made  a  spiral  through  a  maze  of 
streets,  and  then  felt  that  the  hah*  dollar  be- 
longed to  me.  I  next  began  a  search  for  a 
pair  of  shoes.  There  were  rows  of  them  in  a 
Jewish  cobbler's  window,  so  I  went  in.  The 
Jewish  woman,  who  was  in  charge,  in  the  ab- 
sence of  her  husband,  asked  me  what  size  I 
wanted,  and  then  pulled  out  for  my  inspection 
a  pair  of  iron-clads  that  would  not  have  been 
amiss  on  the  feet  of  Ulysses  when  he  started  out 
on  his  wearing  travels,  and  they  surely  would 
have  lasted  him  through  all  his  strenuous  ad- 
ventures. 

[184] 


SAY,  How  MUCH  Yo'  WANT  FO'  DAT  WATCH 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"Fifty -four  cents!"  announced  the  woman. 

I  told  her  that  I  could  not  spend  a  cent  more 
than  fifty  for  foot-wear  else  I  should  have  to 
go  without  supper,  and  that  wet  feet  were  more 
comfortable  than  an  empty  stomach. 

We  then  entered  upon  an  oriental  haggling 
during  which  I  found  it  imperative  to  credit 
myself  with  every  virtue  of  honesty  and  candid- 
ness,  and  during  which  she  called  on  every 
prophet  to  witness  that  the  shoes  should  not 
go  for  a  cent  less  than  fifty -four.  I  held  up  my 
soggy  tennis  shoes  and  tapped  them  on  the 
floor  so  that  their  miserable  splash  should  strike 
a  compassionate  chill  in  her  hard  heart.  I 
told  her  my  lifetime's  history;  gave  her  a  most 
pathetic  list  of  my  adventures;  descanted  with 
fervor  on  the  unkindness  of  men  towards  one 
who  was  trying  to  make  his  way,  and  then  the 
shoes  were  mine! 

I  had  to  learn  to  walk  over  again  when  the 
dry  shoes  were  on.  I  half  stumbled  at  first 
with  the  weight,  but  I  felt  that  at  last  I  could 
go  on  the  main  street  of  the  city  and  pass 
among  respectable  people  without  having  harsh 
comments  made. 

After  my  three-cent  supper,  I  hurried  to  a 
church  where  a  prayer-meeting  was  in  progress. 
After  the  meeting  I  made  a  confidant  of  the 
minister,  who  took  me  before  a  group  of  men; 
the  total  result  of  which  was  that  they  lent  me 
ten  dollars  on  a  note  which  I  later  paid,  or 

[185] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

tried  to  pay,  but  they  refused  to  accept  the 
money  and  sent  me  back  my  note.  A  scalper's 
ticket  to  New  York  City  took  nearly  all  of  the 
ten  dollars.  I  returned  to  the  "hotel"  where 
I  sold  my  umbrella  and  out  of  the  proceeds  paid 
my  room  rent  and  bade  good-bye  to  the  men 
who  lounged  there.  The  New  York  train  which 
I  had  to  take  did  not  leave  Buffalo  until  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  As  I  went  through  the 
quiet  streets,  the  scavengers  were  out,  with 
bags  on  their  shoulders,  fingering  the  refuse 
barrels  that  lined  the  curbs  in  front  of  hotels 
and  eating-houses.  It  was  a  glimpse  of  pov- 
erty that  made  me  shudder,  and  which  by  com- 
parison made  me  feel  quite  aristocratic. 

The  conductor  accepted  my  scalper's  ticket 
without  comment,  though  he  might  have  put 
me  off  the  train  on  the  least  suspicion.  I  took 
off  my  heavy  shoes,  leaned  back  in  the  seat  and 
fell  asleep  without  a  care  to  distract  me  while 
the  express  hummed  smoothly  through  the 
night. 

As  soon  as  the  train  arrived  in  the  New  York 
station  I  had  to  hurry  across  the  city  to  the 
steamboat  wharves  in  time  to  board  the  Provi- 
dence steamer  for  the  dollar  ride  into  the  Fall 
River  zone.  Though  I  had  never  been  in  the 
metropolis  before,  and  though  I  stood  for  a 
thrilling  moment  in  the  very  midst  of  its  won- 
ders, impelling  poverty  drove  me  across  the  city 
like  a  slave-master's  whip,  and  I  boarded  the 

[186] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

steamer  with  merely  an  impressionistic  glance  of 
some  ferry-houses,  some  wholesale  fruit  houses, 
a  dilapidated  horse-car,  some  street  corner  block- 
ades, a  whiff  of  Hester  street,  and  the  East 
River  bridges.  After  a  night  in  the  forward 
part  of  the  boat,  sleeping  in  a  berth  which  might 
have  been  the  confines  of  a  barrel,  while  a 
drunken  man  next  to  me  kept  up  a  periodic, 
loose-mouthed  protest  to  a  man  in  the  upper 
berth  that  he  wished  he  wouldn't  snore  so  loud 
and  keep  everybody  awake,  I  was  put  ashore 
in  Providence.  From  there  I  was  taken  by 
trolley  into  Massachusetts  and  home.  When 
I  arrived  in  New  Bedford  I  had  thirty-five 
cents  remaining  in  my  pocket.  But  I  was 
home !  And  ready  for  the  next  step  in  my  edu- 
cation, whatever  that  should  be. 


[187] 


Chapter  XX.  Aunt  Millies  In- 
terpretation of  Education.  'The 
Right  Sort  of  an  Adviser  Gets 
Hold  of  me 

1  HURRIED  —  with  a  feeling  of  pride  —  in 
the  direction  of  the  tenement  where  my 
aunt  and  uncle  were  living.  It  was  nearly 
noon.  I  would  surprise  my  aunt!  I 
knocked  on  the  door.  My  Aunt  Millie 
stood  before  me. 

"  Hello ! "  I  cried.     "  How  are  you  ?  " 
She  gazed  on  me  with  evident  surprise,  and 
with  a  mixture  of  suspicion,  which  she  put  in 
her  first  words: 

"I  thought  you  were  out  getting  made  into 
a  gentleman  —  at  one  of  those  schools?" 

"Why,  aunt,  I've  had  two  years  of  educa- 
tion —  so  far.     I  mean  to  have  more." 
"But  where's  that  fortune  you've  made?" 
I  gasped. 

"Fortune?     I've   only   got   thirty -five   cents 
and  I'm  in  debt  for  that!" 

"It's  a  failure,  then?"  she  asked,  maliciously. 
[188] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 


•  •, 


!Of  course  it  isn't  a  failure!"  I  insisted,  des- 
perately. "Two  years  of  it  have  helped  me 
very  much.  I  mean  to  get  more  of  it,  aunt!" 

"But  you  look  poorly  dressed,  and  you  tell 
me  that  you're  poorer  than  the  day  you  went. 
I  always  thought  education  meant  getting  along 
in  life!" 

"It  does  mean  getting  along  in  life,"  I  argued, 
"but  not  necessarily  getting  along  in  money — 
or  even  good  clothes.  It  has  to  do  with  the 
mind  —  with  the  thinking  powers  —  eh — " 

She  burst  into  mocking  laughter  and  said: 

"Oh,  that's  it?  Then  maybe  you'll  not  be 
needing  bed  and  board  now  that  you've  had  two 
years  of  education,  —  is  that  the  state  of  things?  " 

"  Oh,  you  don't  understand,  aunt.  Of  course 
you  can't  do  much  in  the  world  with  only  two 
years  of  it.  It  needs  several  years  of  it  before 
you  can  really  get  a  position  in  which  money  or 
prestige  may  be  made.  I'm  only  just  on  the 
way:  in  the  first  stages." 

"Then  why  aren't  you  in  it?  What  have 
you  come  back  to  us  for?  I  suppose  you  are 
short  of  money  and  want  us  to  help  you  along 
in  your  brainless  undertaking,  eh?" 

"Have  I  asked  a  cent  from  you  during  the 
last  two  years,  aunt?"  I  asked  with  some  show 
of  spirit.  "Haven't  I  earned  my  own  living 
even  when  I  have  been  at  home?  Is  it  likely 
that  I'll  ask  you  to  help  me  through  now?" 

"It  wouldn't  do  any  good  if  you  were  to  ask 
[189] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

us,"  she  said,  firmly.  "We  have  debts  enough 
in  the  house  now  to  drive  us  to  distraction." 

"Of  course,"  I  said,  "it  will  be  some  weeks, 
probably,  before  I  can  shape  my  plans.  You 
will  let  me  stay  here?" 

"There,"  she  sniffed,  "he's  coming  the  soft 
soap  act  on,  now!  I  thought  you  had  some- 
thing up  your  sleeve.  So  you  want  me  to  board 
you  free  of  charge  for  some  weeks,  eh,  while 
you  lord  it  around  without  working?" 

"I  shall  have  to  plan  just  what  to  do  next!" 
I  announced,  feeling  that  this  last  touch  to  my 
already  heavy  load  would  break  me.  "That's 
all.  I  shall  be  going  off  to  some  sort  of  a  school 
if  it's  possible." 

"Two  days  free:  that's  as  long  as  you  can 
stop  without  board,"  she  announced.  "I  never 
was  for  this  hair-brained  business.  It's  taken 
your  earnings  away.  After  two  days  you  must 
pay  board." 

I  knew  it  was  fruitless  to  argue  with  her  any 
further  and  I  longed  for  the  noon  to  arrive  when 
I  could  have  Uncle  Stanwood's  more  comfort- 
ing greetings. 

My  uncle  came  in  and  was  extremely  pleased 
to  greet  me,  and  my  return  so  unexpectedly 
considerably  upset  him. 

"Two  years  of  learning,  steady,"  he  com- 
mented. "That's  good.  You  are  the  first 
Priddy  to  get  such  a  chance.  Make  the  most  of 
it.  Two  years  is  a  good  beginning.  I  can  no- 

[190] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

tice  a  difference  in  your  speech  and  your  man- 
ner already.     Keep  on,  Al!" 

"  His  learning  hasn't  given  him  any  silk  shirts 
or  gold-headed  canes,  has  it?"  scoffed  my 
Aunt  Millie. 

"Don't  heap  it  on  the  lad,"  chided  my  uncle, 
"it's  taken  a  lot  of  courage  and  perhaps  suffer- 
ing for  him  to  get  through  as  he  has.  We 
haven't  done  anything  towards  it,  Millie;  so 
we  shouldn't  have  much  to  say!" 

Then  my  uncle  asked  a  perfectly  natural  and 
innocent  question. 

"What  are  you  aiming  to  be,  Al,  when  you're 
through  with  the  schools?" 

Tremblingly  I  whispered: 

"A  preacher,  I  think!" 

If  the  world  had  cracked  or  the  moon  had 
leaped  into  the  middle  of  our  kitchen,  my  aunt 
could  not  have  been  more  startled  than  she 
appeared  to  be  at  that  announcement.  She 
instantly  rallied  her  powers  of  ridicule  and 
sarcasm  and  indulged  in  the  following  mono- 
logue that  had  little  savor  of  love  in  it: 

"Oh,  oh!  That's  the  lay  of  the  land,  is  it? 
A  parson!  A  Priddy  a  parson!  A  fawning, 
hypocritical  parson!  A  tea-drinking,  smirking 
thing  in  black.  Why,  at  least,  didn't  he  chose 
to  be  a  lawyer  or  a  doctor  or  something  worth 
while?  I  thought  he  had  brains!" 

"Millie!"  thundered  uncle.  "Shut  up!  Do 
you  want  to  crush  the  lad?" 

[191] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

But  she  was  not  to  be  stopped.  She  grew 
almost  hysterical  in  her  tirade. 

"I  suppose  he'll  be  hurling  his  sermons  at 
us,  so  sanctimonious  and  pious!" 

"Hush,  aunt,  please,"  I  pleaded,  "don't 
shout  so  loud,  people  will  hear  and  wonder  what's 
wrong!" 

"There,"  she  went  on  with  a  dry  laugh, 
"just  hear  that  low  voice:  it's  just  the  voice  for 
a  parson!"  Then  she  posed  before  me  in  dread- 
ful mimicry,  with  her  finger  tips  touching  in 
front  of  her  and  an  affected,  upward  cast  in 
her  eyes,  while  she  cried,  ingratiatingly: 

"Be  good,  be  very,  very  good,  my  dears! 
Do  right  like  me  and  get  to  heaven!'"  and  then 
releasing  herself  from  this  display  she  suddenly 
roared,  "You  old  hypocrite,  you!  The  idea, 
you  a  parson!" 

"God  knows,"  muttered  uncle,  "it  is  to  be 
wondered  how  a  lad  brought  up  with  us  could 
ever  turn  his  eyes  in  that  direction!" 

At  that  my  Aunt  Millie  cast  on  her  husband 
a  frown  and  said,  snappishly: 

"Aye,  you  old  sinner.  Your  conscience  is 
working  now.  No  wonder  you  talk  like  that!" 

During  the  dinner,  while  my  aunt  was  in  the 
pantry,  uncle  bent  towards  me  and  whispered: 

"Come  out  with  me  after  dinner,  Al.  We'll 
talk  there!" 

At  half -past  twelve  we  left  the  house  together 
and  sat  down  on  some  logs  on  an  empty  lot 

[192] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

near  the  mill  where  uncle  said,  after  I  had 
recounted  to  him  my  two  years'  experiences: 

"But  what  can  you  do  now?  It  seems  that 
you  have  cut  yourself  off  from  everything  by 
leaving  that  school.  You  have  nothing  to  go 
to  now!" 

"Oh,"  I  replied,  "there  are  scores  of  places 
that  I  might  go  to  in  the  East  here,  if  I  only 
knew  where  to  look.  Rather  than  be  idle,  I 
might  go  to  the  local  high  school  and  work  dur- 
ing the  spare  time  for  my  board  and  clothes. 
Then  there  are  free  academies  and  preparatory 
schools  where  I  might  get  a  chance.  I  will 
begin  to  look  around.  Mr.  Woodward,  the 
minister,  might  know  of  some  things.  I  mean 
to  see  him  this  afternoon.  I  shall  try  to  keep 
on  with  my  studies  somehow." 

"Why  don't  you  go  into  the  mill  for  awhile 
and  then  get  some  money  by  you,  Al.  It  would 
make  it  easier  for  you?" 

"But  I  can't  spare  the  time,  uncle.  I  ought 
to  keep  right  in  with  an  unbroken  school  career. 
It  can  be  done  if  only  the  right  place  be  found. 
I  am  all  at  sea,  just  now,  but  I  shall  inquire. 
I  know  I  shall  find  something." 

We  talked  until  the  one  o'clock  whistle 
sounded,  and  then  I  went  in  the  direction  of  the 
minister's  house  to  consult  with  him  concern- 
ing my  future. 

Mr.  Woodward  was  minister  over  a  little 
church  of  mill  people,  one  of  those  underpaid 

[193] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

men  who  not  only  preach  faith  but  express  it 
in  many  kindly  but  unheralded  services  to  soci- 
ety. He  obtained  congenial  work  for  over- 
worked factory  girls,  sent  tired  mothers  into  the 
country  in  the  summer  season,  sent  invalids  to 
hospitals,  inspired  mill  lads  in  self-culture,  and 
kept  his  own  busy  mind  furnished  with  the 
latest  and  most  scholarly  information  in  social 
science  and  theology. 

When  I  rang  his  door-bell  my  heart  nearly 
failed  me  with  the  thought  that  as  he  had  never 
had  the  privilege  of  attending  a  college  or  a 
theological  seminary,  he  might  be  unable  to 
give  me  any  advice  on  my  immediate  problem. 

But  after  we  had  sat  in  his  study  for  an  hour, 
and  he  had  sounded  me  on  my  past  experiences, 
and  when  I  had  concluded  with  a  very  pessi- 
mistic exclamation, 

"But  I  guess  I've  thrown  away  my  chance 
by  leaving  Evangelical  University,  Mr.  Wood- 
ward. I  don't  know  what  took  possession  of 
me,  I'm  sure.  It  was  such  a  whim,  especially 
when  I  was  doing  so  well  out  there!" 

The  big  Scotchman  stood  up,  laid  his  heavy 
hand  on  my  shoulder  and  exclaimed, 

"Albert,  I  think  I  see  you  continuing  the 
fight  from  now  on,  if  I  can  possibly  do  any- 
thing. You  must  have  courage  and  faith; 
they  are  more  to  you  than  money."  He  swept 
his  hand  across  his  eyes  as  if  to  sweep  back  the 
years  and  said,  reminiscently, 

[194] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"Oh,  if  I'd  had  your  chance,  lad!  You  don't 
know  what  it  cost  me  to  lose  my  chance! 
Listen!"  He  then  recounted  to  me  his  own 
experience  in  search  of  an  education  and 
unfolded  dramatic  incident  after  dramatic  inci- 
dent for  my  encouragement.  He  showed  me 
himself  by  a  peat-bog  fire,  in  the  north  of  Ire- 
land, amidst  poverty,  struggling  with  his  few 
books.  He  showed  me  himself,  an  immigrant 
landing  in  New  England,  where  he  began  to 
work  in  the  flare  of  a  furnace.  Next  he  showed 
me  how  his  chance  for  going  to  college  had 
been  cut  off  by  his  marriage.  That  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  picture  of  him,  sitting  in  a  room 
through  the  day  learning  Greek  and  theology, 
while  his  wife  went  into  the  mill  to  earn  the 
money  for  rent  and  clothes  and  books.  The 
memory  of  those  severe  struggles  which  had 
cost  nerve  and  health  brought  tears  swimming 
into  his  kindly  eyes.  He  said,  in  conclusion, 

"Why,  if  I  were  in  your  place,  lad,  I'd  black 
boots  to  get  to  a  college,  I  would.  Don't  lose 
a  day.  I  know  a  theological  seminary  in  high 
standing  where  you  can  get  as  good  a  training 
for  the  ministry  as  may  be  secured  anywhere 
in  the  United  States,  where  your  mind  will 
awaken  and  where  you  may  not  feel  ashamed 
after  graduating  from  it.  From  there  you  can 
go  to  a  college,  entering  the  Junior  year.  That 
will  mean  five  years  more,  Albert,  five  years  of 
blessed  privilege,  which  I  shall  envy  you,  lad!" 

[195] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"But  I  have  no  money,  and  it  must  cost 
money  to  enter  the  theological  seminary,"  I 
insisted.  "I  should  have  to  get  there,  and  there 
would  occur  several  expenses  for  books  and 
things  when  I  get  there." 

"I  can  get  fifty  dollars  for  you  on  a  note, 
which  I  will  secure.  Trust  me,"  replied  Mr. 
Woodward.  "I  mean  that  you  shall  go  ahead. 
The  world  can't  afford  to  let  one  of  its  ambi- 
tious lads  slip  up.  It's  not  good  economy. 
Fifty  dollars  will  start  you  off.  The  expenses 
at  the  seminary  are  trivial.  There  will  occur 
opportunities  for  self-help.  In  the  summer 
you  may  get  a  church.  Come  to  me  tomorrow 
afternoon.  I'll  get  busy  with  the  telephone  and 
telegraph  right  away.  The  Seminary  opens 
this  week.  Come  tomorrow,  lad,  and  I  hope 
to  have  good  news  for  you.  I  feel  that  you've 
got  your  chance!" 

As  I  left  him  standing  at  the  door,  gazing 
after  me,  I  hurried  home  whistling;  thinking, 
too,  what  an  overturn  of  emotion  can  occur  in 
a  single  day. 


196] 


Chapter  XXL  Over  the  Sea  to 
a  New  Educational  Chance.  How 
I  Revenged  Myself  on  the  Hungry 
Days.  The  Cloistered  Serenity 
of  the  New  Place 


T 


fHE  following  afternoon  when  I  ar- 
rived at  Mr.  Woodward's  house,  I 
found  a  young  man  with  him,  whom 
he  introduced  as  Mr.  Blake,  a  Con- 
gregational minister  from  a  nearby 
town,  whom  he  had  invited  in  to  talk  to  me 
about  the  Seminary. 

"Mr.  Blake  graduated  there  a  few  years  ago 

and  can  tell  you  all  about  it,"  added  my  friend. 

"Had  you  better  not  show  him  the  telegram 

you  have  from  the  President  of  the  Seminary?" 

suggested  the  young  man. 

Mr.   Woodward   smiled,   and   showed   me  a 
telegram  which  read, 

"Send  the  young  man  at  once!"  and  bore 
the  signature  of  the  Seminary  President. 

Then  Mr.  Woodward  put  his  hand  into  his 
[1971 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

pocket  and  brought  out  from  thence  a  cluster 
of  crinkling  bills. 

"Hold  your  hand,  Albert,"  he  smiled.  "It's 
money!" 

He  counted  into  my  hand  fifty  dollars  and 
said, 

"If  you  are  energetic,  this  is  all  the  money 
you  will  have  to  borrow  for  awhile.  I  am  glad 
for  you,  my  lad.  Now  I  have  to  attend  a  fu- 
neral. You  go  out  for  a  walk  with  Mr.  Blake 
and  come  back  with  him  in  time  for  supper. 
We're  to  have  an  informal  celebration  together." 

I  led  Mr.  Blake  to  the  Point  Road,  the  pen- 
insula which  juts  out  like  a  forefinger  from  the 
south  end  of  New  Bedford  into  Buzzard's  Bay. 
We  walked  along  the  grassy  foot-path,  near  the 
low  wall,  past  the  shimmering  sea,  the  flying, 
croaking  gulls,  and  a  parade  of  scallop  boats. 
My  companion  had  a  very  ambitious  mous- 
tache which  was  trying  hard  to  mature,  and  he 
had  a  trick  of  unconsciously  aiding  the  ends  by 
pulling  them  as  he  talked.  While  he  interjected 
theological  shop  talk,  and  had  a  long  disserta- 
tion on  Textual  Criticism  versus  Literal  Inspi- 
ration, when  he  found  that  I  had  been  in 
such  a  conservative  theological  atmosphere  as 
Evangelical  University,  and  though  he  prattled 
familiarly  the  names  of  Renan,  Weissmann, 
Schleiermacher,  and  Ritschl,  I  found  inspira- 
tion in  the  man  himself,  for  I  kept  thinking  to 
myself  on  that  walk,  "He  has  attained  to  what 

[198] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

you  are  after."  We  came  to  a  grove  of  spruces 
that  had  grown  on  the  edge  of  some  rocks  by 
the  side  of  the  road.  Here,  a  quartet  of  blue- 
bloused  Chinamen  were  celebrating  some  sort 
of  a  holiday  by  playing  strident  tunes  on  queer 
pipes  and  tom-toms,  joining  in  with  their  fal- 
setto voices.  Mr.  Blake  and  I  found  a  secure 
place  on  some  ledges,  from  which  we  could  throw 
pebbles  at  the  white  gulls  that  walked  up  and 
down  the  beach  in  lady-like  fashion. 

When  we  returned,  at  the  supper  hour,  we 
sat  down  with  Mr.  Woodward  at  the  table, 
where  both  men  set  my  head  to  whirling  by  the 
confidence  with  which  they  recounted  my  future 
enjoyment  of  the  Seminary.  Had  it  not  been 
for  the  crumpled  fifty  dollars  in  my  pocket, 
the  entire  experience  would  have  had  the  shape 
of  a  dream,  for  only  two  days  before  I  had  stood 
before  my  critical  aunt  with  no  plans  and  with 
thirty-five  cents  for  my  fortune.  My  freight 
ride  and  Buffalo  experience  seemed  years  back, 
in  a  dim  haze. 

On  arriving  home,  I  pulled  out  the  fifty  dol- 
lars and  showed  the  amount  to  my  aunt  and 
uncle. 

"Where  did  you  get  all  that?"  gasped  my 
uncle. 

"Borrowed  it,"  I  replied.  "I  go  to  a  theo- 
logical seminary  in  two  days." 

My  aunt  wanted  to  know  what  sort  of  a  lu- 
natic I  was  to  borrow  money  on  which  to  get  an 

[199] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

education.  Her  theory  yet  remained,  that  only 
those  with  large  fortunes  were  entitled  to  an 
education. 

But  from  the  shining  eyes  of  my  uncle,  I 
gathered  that  he  felt  glad  over  my  prospects, 
as  I  unfolded  them  to  him. 

Two  evenings  later  I  sat  on  the  hurricane 
deck  of  a  steamer  that  was  to  carry  me  to  the 
Seminary  city.  I  watched  the  golden  dome  of 
the  State  House  dwindle  to  the  size  of  a 
noonday  sun.  I  watched  the  waves  from 
our  paddles  wash  the  edges  of  innumerable 
islands.  We  passed  the  lighthouses:  huge 
warning  fingers  flashing  their  diamond  lights. 
Our  bow  foam  swirled  over  the  low-lying  decks 
of  loaded  coasters.  Then  we  entered  the  silences 
of  the  ocean :  even  the  sun  left  us  and  we  swirled 
into  night.  The  dismal  echoes  of  bending  bell- 
buoys  reached  our  ears  out  of  the  darkness. 
The  chilly,  night  wind  threatened  us  with  influ- 
enza, so  we  hurried  into  the  cabins  where, 
under  bright  lights,  people  were  chatting, 
and  where,  in  a  far  corner,  a  musician  was  tick- 
ling the  popular  tune  from  the  piano: 

"  All  the  Stars  in  the  Sky,  Dear,  Speak  through  the  Night  of  You-u-u  !" 

When  the  glistening  negro,  in  spotless  white, 
rushed  through  the  cabin,  waving  a  pink- 
bordered  towel  and  muttering  to  the  ceiling  or 
to  the  thick  carpet,  as  if  it  were  no  concern  of 
his,  that  this  was  "the  last  call  for  dinner,"  I 

[200] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

felt  that  I  would  adventure  into  the  consider- 
able menu  a  dollar  would  bring  me,  if  for  noth- 
ing else  but  to  atone  for  those  hungry  days 
of  three-cent  meals  in  Indianapolis  and  Buffalo! 

The  next  morning  the  steamer  was  poking 
its  prow  insistently  through  the  sea  and  through 
a  drizzling  rainstorm.  We  were  near  land  again 
and  passed  bleak  islands  hardly  bigger  than  a 
man's  hand  on  which  were  exiled  lonesome, 
bleating  sheep.  Then  we  left  the  bays  back  of 
us  and  entered  the  mouth  of  a  river  roadway 
whose  banks  were  lined  with  golden  foliage. 
We  passed  a  grim,  grey  fort  and  then  stopped 
at  a  quiet  town  whose  roofs  were  buried  in  tall 
trees,  which  in  turn  were  topped  by  the  spires 
of  two  old-fashioned  churches  which  seemed  to 
be  telling  the  townspeople  in  which  direction 
God  was  to  be  found.  The  river  roadway 
deepened  and  narrowed  and  twisted  as  we 
ascended  it.  Then  we  left  the  autumn  beauties 
of  tree  and  shrub  and  passed  between  ice-houses, 
factories,  and  tenements  until  a  bridge  marked 
the  limits  of  navigation  and  we  were  put  ashore 
in  the  Seminary  city. 

The  steamboat  wharf  was  the  front  porch  to 
a  large  city  which  began  at  the  summit  of  a 
hill  to  the  south,  crowded  the  hillside,  wandered 
into  the  valley,  and  ascended  another  hill  and 
continued  on  it  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  I 
walked  over  the  cobbled  street  in  front  of  the 
wharf  shed,  made  my  way  past  long  rows  of 

[201] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

cordage  and  commercial  houses,  and  came  out 
into  a  triangular  market-place,  shut  in  by  low- 
set  brick  and  wooden  houses,  cheap  hotels, 
fruit,  fish,  and  sailors'  clothing  stores.  The 
market-place  was  thronged  with  wagons  and 
stalls.  In  one  section  the  hay  wagons  were 
massed  and  over  them  groups  of  stablemen  and 
citizens  argued  until  load  after  load  had  been 
sold.  In  another  section,  with  their  backs 
forming  an  aisle  through  which  I  walked,  were 
the  butcher-carts  offering  roasts,  strings  of  sau- 
sage, coral  strings  of  frankf urts,  and  whole  sides 
of  pork.  Back  of  them  were  the  vegetable  carts 
with  loads  of  squashes  fresh  from  the  fields  and 
heaps  of  greens.  After  walking  through  this 
noisy  market,  I  came  to  the  main  business 
street  of  the  city,  lined  with  stores  and  hum- 
ming with  cars.  Then  I  walked  up  a  hill  past 
residences  and  dying  grass  lawns,  until,  in  a 
triangular  fence  which  followed  the  parting  of 
two  streets,  I  had  my  first  view  of  the  theolog- 
ical seminary. 

The  seminary  was  separated  from  the  modern 
houses  about  it  not  only  by  the  fence,  but  also 
by  its  age,  its  soberness,  its  shaded  walks,  and 
its  ample  stretches  of  lawn.  Behind  the  leaves 
of  the  trees  I  saw  one  of  those  mill-like  dormi- 
tories which  our  stern,  eighteenth-century  fore- 
fathers loved  to  build  when  they  planned  colleges 
and  seminaries.  The  whole  aspect  of  the  place, 
as  I  entered  the  gate,  was  one  of  monkish 

[202] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

repose,  of  academic  sedateness.  The  drab  paint 
on  the  porches  of  the  dormitory  and  covering  the 
professors'  houses,  the  dignified  layers  of  brick 
in  the  chapel,  all  said,  as  plainly  as  you  please, 
" Don't  laugh  here!"  All  my  early  dreams  con- 
cerning how  colleges  and  places  of  learning 
should  look,  were  realized.  The  very  bricks  in 
the  buildings  seemed  to  be  after  a  theological 
education. 

As  I  put  my  foot  on  the  porch  a  young  man 
met  me,  asked  me  if  I  was  "Mr.  Priddy,"  and 
on  learning  that  I  was,  he  escorted  me  immedi- 
ately over  to  the  president's  house,  where  the 
final  arrangements  for  my  matriculation  in 
the  Seminary  were  completed.  An  hour  later, 
under  the  guidance  of  Burner,  who  was  an  upper 
classman,  I  was  purchasing  an  oil  lamp,  a  par- 
lor stove,  a  ton  of  coal,  a  wash  basin,  two  coal- 
hods,  and  sundry  decorations.  Two  hours  after 
that  I  had  unpacked  my  belongings  in  a  double 
room  on  the  fourth  floor  of  the  dormitory, 
and  when  the  chapel  bell  sounded  for  supper, 
Burner  conducted  me  into  a  very  old-fashioned 
Commons,  on  the  walls  of  which  were  paintings 
of  ships  and  shipwrecks.  Here  I  was  intro- 
duced to  the  students  and  then  found  myself 
eating  voraciously  of  the  fare  that  was  set  before 
me. 

The  next  morning,  I  was  awakened  by  the 
piping  of  a  little  bird  that  sang  on  the  window 
ledge,  under  the  open  window. 

[203] 


Chapter  XXII.  Stoves  with 
Traditions ,  Domestic  Habits  ^  and 
Greek,  "Boys  Will  be  Boys" 


i 


f  |  fHE  apocalyptic  hope  of  the  stu- 
dents who  were  domiciled  in 
Therenton  Hall,  the  Seminary 
dormitory,  included  steam  heat 
and  running  water;  for  neither  of 
those  modern  conveniences  had  been  installed  up 
to  that  time  and  students  had  to  carry  hods  of 
coal  up  four  flights  of  stairs;  and  were  compelled 
to  convey  pitchers  of  water  the  same  distance. 
Each  one  had  his  own  coal  bin  in  the  vaulted  cellar 
and  also  owned  a  kindling  pile  which  he  watched 
with  suspicious  and  amusing  jealousy.  Besides 
that,  ashes  had  to  be  raked  from  stoves,  car- 
ried downstairs,  and  sifted  —  by  the  thrifty  — 
in  a  far  corner  of  the  cellar,  where  lay  the  dor- 
mitory ash  heap. 

The  parlor  stoves,  coal-hods,  water  bowls, 
and  pitchers,  the  personal  possessions  of  the 
students,  were  handed  down  from  class  to  class, 
in  many  instances,  until  the  most  trivial  price 

[204] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

—  say  a  dollar  for  a  six-foot  stove  —  gave  a 
profit  of  ten  cents  and  three  years'  use  to  the 
senior  who  sold  out.  The  stove  I  purchased 
for  two  dollars  was  a  giant  of  a  stove,  high, 
bulky,  and  lavishly  decorated  with  ring-a-rosy 
cherubs,  covered  with  a  thick  coating  of  stove 
polish  until  they  had  ceased  being  an  angelic 
silver  and  had  become  an  Ethiopian  black. 
I  mention  this  stove  because  its  sheet-tin  girth 
was  hallowed  by  hoary  traditions,  and  if  it 
could  have  spoken  it  would  have  kept  me 
cheered  for  many  hours  by  a  recital  of  the 
different  escapades  in  which  it  had  figured  at 
the  hands  of  the  theologues.  The  rust  on  its 
bands,  for  instance,  was  due  to  the  fact  that 
some  students  had  plastered  it  with  a  swad- 
dling of  sticky  fly  paper.  The  dent  imme- 
diately under  the  hood  had  been  made  by  a 
flying  theological  treatise  which  had  been  aimed 
originally  at  the  head  of  an  intruder,  who  in- 
sisted on  keeping  one  of  the  stove's  former 
owners  from  a  study  of  Hebrew  nouns.  The 
broken  foot,  which  rested  on  some  thin  wafers 
of  wood,  was  caused  by  the  attempt  on  the  part 
of  some  students  to  reverse  the  stove  during  the 
absence  of  another  owner  who  was  paying  court 
to  one  of  the  young  women  in  the  city. 

We  attended  to  the  dusting  and  care  of  our 
own  rooms  with  more  or  less  thoroughness. 
Some  of  my  friends  chose  to  sleep  and  study 
amidst  dust  and  disorder  rather  than  to  endure 

[205J 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

the  strain  and  toil  of  a  sweeper,  a  beater,  and 
a  duster  for  a  Saturday  morning.  When  we 
went  to  a  city  prayer-meeting  or  a  lecture,  we 
would  usually  dangle  our  greasy  kerosene  cans 
as  far  as  the  corner  grocery  and  leave  them  to 
be  filled.  In  fact,  so  inextricably  interwoven 
with  our  intellectual  concerns  were  our  domestic 
habits,  that  I  had  not  been  in  the  dormitory 
very  long  before  I  caught  myself  entering  my 
Greek  class  holding  fast  to  a  coal-hod,  which  I 
had  taken  the  trouble  to  carry  along  the  walk 
and  into  the  recitation  building,  while  I  had 
unconsciously  propped  my  Greek  Testament 
very  snugly  behind  the  lower  banister,  under 
the  impression  that  it  had  been  the  coal-hod. 

One  Saturday  morning,  Providence  or  Fate 
—  whatever  it  would  be  at  a  theological  semi- 
nary —  arranged  a  mise  en  scene  which  called 
attention,  in  an  effective  way,  to  the  inconven- 
ience of  permitting  the  students  the  use  of  coal- 
hods  and  wash  bowls.  The  President  was 
entertaining  a  gentleman  who  had  been  the 
first  donor  to  our  new  and  splendid  gymnasium. 
He  had  escorted  the  benefactor  through  the  bath- 
rooms, the  bowling-alleys,  over  the  running-track, 
and  had  taken  him  among  the  equipment,  with 
evidences  of  great  pleasure.  I  had  occasion  to  be 
leaving  the  gymnasium  in  their  wake.  I  saw  the 
President  throw  open  the  door  which  led  into  the 
lower  hall  of  the  dormitory  and  heard  him  say, 
"This  is  our  dormitory—  '  or  something  to 

[206] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

that  effect,  and  he  stepped  back  to  allow  the  sem- 
inary benefactor  to  precede  him  into  the  dignified 
precincts  of  our  domicile.  Then  he  followed, 
and  one  may  imagine  how  he  must  have  felt, 
as  he  gazed  upon  a  chaos  of  coal,  of  wood,  of 
water,  and  of  broken  crockery,  which  lay  like 
the  trail  of  a  sloven  over  the  hall  and  over  the 
first  flight  of  steps;  echoes  from  the  preceding 
night,  when  the  top  floor  had  engaged  the  lower 
floors  in  a  counter  demonstration  of  noise,  smash, 
and  confusion. 


[207] 


Chapter  XXI I L  A  Plot  Which 
had  for  its  End  the  Raising  up  of 
a  Discouraged  Young  Preacher 

ONE  day  I  was  sitting  in  the  appar- 
ently deserted  library,  looking  over 
the  new  books  which  were  always 
kept  on  a  side  shelf,  at  the  entrance 
to  one  of  the  alcoves,  when  I  heard 
a  heavy,  most  disconsolate  sigh,  coming  from  a 
hidden  corner  in  the  rear  of  the  room.     The 
sigh  was  followed  by  the  rustling  of  book  leaves. 
I  continued  my  investigation  of  the  new  books, 
but  was  once  more  interrupted  by  that  same,  pro- 
longed  sighing.      It   was   just   such  a  sigh  as 
Dante  must  have  heard  proceeding  from  the 
lips  of  those  unfortunate  creatures  who  stood 
in  neither  hope  nor  despair.     I  decided  to  inves- 
tigate, and,  for  that  purpose,  went  down  the 
alcove  from  which  the  sighing  seemed  to  have 
come,  and  there,  with  his  back  turned  to  me, 
seated  at  one  of  the  reference  tables,  with  his 
head  resting  woefully  on  his  spread  out  arms, 
sat  Amos  Tucker,  an  upper  class  man. 

I  hesitated  to  approach  him,  at  first,  and  pre- 
[208] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

tended  that  I  had  come  into  the  alcove  for  a 
book.  Then  again  the  sigh  proceeded  from  the 
limp  heap  at  the  table,  and,  throwing  all  restraint 
to  the  winds,  I  went  to  the  table,  touched  Amos 
on  the  shoulder,  and  said, 

"Are  you  in  trouble,  Tucker?" 

He  raised  his  tearful,  grey  eyes  to  me,  and 
said, 

"They  say  I'm  not  fit  to  be  a  preacher!" 

I  sat  down  beside  him,  for  from  his  manner 
I  knew  that  he  welcomed  me  to  be  his  confidant. 

"Who  says  so?  Any  of  the  students?"  I 
asked. 

"No,  it  wouldn't  matter  if  it  came  from  them: 
the  church  says  so!" 

"What  church  is  that,  Tucker?" 

He  sat  up  in  his  chair  and  replied, 

"I  have  just  started  to  preach,  this  year.  I 
have  been  out  for  two  Sundays  in  a  little  place 
where  they  give  me  seven  dollars,  out  of  which 
I  have  to  pay  a  dollar  and  a  half  for  expenses. 
It's  not  that  I  care  a  snap  about  the  money, 
though,  but  I  want  a  place  to  call  my  parish.  I 
feel  that  I  ought  to  preach.  Well,  I've  got  a 
letter  from  the  committee  this  morning,  tell- 
ing me  that  they  will  have  to  get  along  without 
me;  that  they  cannot  have  me  any  longer  for 
their  minister." 

"What  reasons  do  they  offer?" 

"That's  it!"  he  responded,  with  a  catch  in 
his  voice,  "they  have  had  the  bravery  to  tell 

[209] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

me  the  exact  reason.  It  is  this :  they  tell  me  — 
oh,  hadn't  you  better  read  for  yourself,"  and  he 
handed  me  the  last  page  of  a  letter,  explaining, 

"It's  all  on  that  one  page:  all  that  you  want 
to  know." 

I  read: 

"You  can  never  make  a  preacher,  we  feel — • 
excuse  us  for  telling  you  so  frankly  —  you  have 
no  voice,  you  do  not  read  well,  your  grammar 
is  poor,  your  themes  are  not  interesting.  Your 
last  Sunday  morning's  talk  on  'Conscience' 
was  beyond  our  understanding.  Several  good 
supporters  have  threatened  to  forego  their 
subscriptions  if  we  have  you  another  Sunday. 
Will  you  kindly  suggest  some  one  to  come  to 
us  next  Sunday  and  oblige,  yours  in  Christian 
sincerity,  etc." 

"Blunt,  isn't  it?"  he  half  smiled. 

"The  idea  of  asking  you  to  send  them  some- 
body, after  that!"  I  gasped. 

"Oh,"  he  sniffed,  "it's  all  in  Christian  sin- 
cerity, you  know!" 

"Well,"  I  added,  "there  are  other  places, 
Tucker.  Cheer  up!" 

Then  a  most  discouraging  change  came  into 
his  eyes,  he  nodded  his  head,  and  replied,  with 
vigor, 

"The  trouble  of  it  is,  Priddy,  what  they  say 
is  all  true,  every  word  of  it!  I  have  a  terrible 
voice  and  can't  seem  to  get  my  words  out.  I 
don't  know  much  about  grammar;  never  had 

[210] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

much  of  a  chance  on  the  farm.  I'm  not  quick 
to  learn  like  so  many  here.  I  have  to  plod  and 
plod  and  plod.  As  for  interesting  sermons, 
why,  if  they  aren't  interesting  I  do  the  best  I 
can!" 

I  wanted  to  ask  him,  then,  why  he  persisted 
in  entering  the  ministry,  but  I  couldn't  find  cour- 
age to  do  so,  but  he  had  read  my  thoughts,  for 
he  said,  immediately, 

"You  wonder  why,  if  I  know  all  this,  I  enter 
the  ministry,  and  fight  against  hope?  Well, 
I'll  tell  you.  I  have  felt,  right  along,  that  I 
might  break  down  my  handicaps.  At  least  I 
thought  I  would  give  myself  a  thorough  trial, 
no  matter  how  bitter  the  disappointment  of 
failure  might  be.  I  didn't  mind  losing  two  or 
three  places  at  first,  if  I  could  finally  master 
myself.  It  was  a  sort  of  inherent  vanity  of 
mine  that  I  could  succeed.  But  this  —  this 
seems  to  be  a  judgment  on  me,  I  guess.  I 
think  I'll  pack  up  and  go  out  and  become  — 
oh,  anything  that  pays  day  wages.  At  least, 
I  can  try  to  be  a  good  layman!" 

"Why  don't  you  try  it  another  year?"  I  sug- 
gested. "Things  might  turn." 

"How  can  I  stay  here  if  I  can't  earn  some 
money  by  preaching? "  he  asked.  "If  no  church 
will  take  me,  why,  I  shall  have  to  leave  the 
Seminary." 

"I  wouldn't  leave  before  having  a  good  talk 
with  some  of  the  professors,"  I  suggested.  "I 

[2111 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

think  you  have  the  sort  of  a  spirit  which  will 
finally  prevail,  Tucker." 

"Oh,"  he  replied,  "I  haven't  got  much  spirit 
—  now  —  after  that  letter.  They  might  have 
borne  with  me  a  month  or  two  longer  —  per- 
haps I  should  have  surprised  them."  Then  he 
laughed,  bitterly.  :'You  can't  guess  why  I 
came  into  the  library  with  my  troubles,  Priddy, 
can  you?" 

"No." 

"You  see  this!"  and  he  indicated  a  large, 
open  book,  on  which  his  tears  had  been  falling. 
It  was  a  huge,  ancient  tome,  with  metal  bands 
and  chipped  leather  binding.  The  leaves  were 
yellowed,  and  from  them  came  a  dampish  odor 
of  musty  age.  It  was  a  Latin  edition  of  "The 
Book  of  Martyrs  "  opened  at  the  page  where  the 
fanciful  wood-cut  showed  heaps  of  flaming 
fagots,  blazing  in  Smithfield  market,  directly 
under  the  bare  feet  of  a  wroman,  tied  to  a  stake 
and  holding  to  her  breast  a  crying  infant. 

'There  is  a  story  about  here,"  went  on 
Tucker,  with  a  smile,  "to  the  effect  that  a  for- 
mer student  in  the  Seminary,  when  discouraged, 
would  come  into  the  library  and  pore  over  these 
dismal,  grewsome  pictures,  and  persuade  him- 
self that  his  own  sufferings  were  trivial  when 
compared  with  the  sufferings  of  these  martyrs! 
I  thought  I'd  come  and  try  it,  too,  but  it  only 
intensified  my  own  misery!"  He  shut  the  great 
book  with  such  an  explosion  that  the  dust 

[212] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

issued  from  it  and  gleamed  in  the  rays  of  the 
sun  which  streamed  in  through  the  window. 

"But  I'd  stay  on  till  the  end,  Tucker,"  I 
persisted.  "It's  worth  trying  —  if  you  feel 
that  you  have  a  call  to  preach!" 

"I  have  the  call  clearly  enough,"  he  insisted, 
evidently  cheered  by  my  confidence  in  him. 
"If  I  could  only  persuade  others  of  it,  though, 
I  should  feel  happier." 

"Probably  you'll  have  another  chance  to 
preach  before  you  expect  it,"  I  said,  in  conclu- 
sion, and  left  him  with  the  intention  of  speak- 
ing in  his  behalf  to  some  of  the  students,  who 
might  be  able  to  encourage  him  in  a  substantial 
manner. 

I  went,  quite  naturally,  to  Burner,  the  upper- 
class  man  who  had  manifested  an  interest  in 
my  arrival.  The  big  student  heard  my  ver- 
sion of  Tucker's  experience  without  comment, 
and  then,  after  a  moment  of  thought,  answered, 

"  Don't  you  bother  yourself  any  further  about 
him.  I'll  do  all  I  can.  This  is  an  upper-class- 
man's work,  and  it  needs,  too,  some  fine  work 
by  the  professors.  It  wouldn't  take  much  to 
drive  Tucker  off.  By  the  way,  don't  mention 
to  him  about  your  conversation  with  me.  I'm 
sure  he's  got  the  stuff  in  him  for  a  preacher. 
He  needs  practical  encouragement  and  he  shall 
have  it.  You  just  watch!" 

Two  days  later,  while  I  was  in  the  gymna- 
sium, practising  alone  with  the  basket  ball, 

[213J 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

Tucker  appeared  on  the  floor  in  his  gymnasium 
clothes,  and,  apparently,  in  a  very  happy  frame 
of  mind.  As  he  stood  opposite  to  me  and  caught 
the  ball  as  I  threw  it  to  him,  he  said, 

"Priddy,  I'm  going  to  preach  on  Sunday; 
another  chance  to  botch  it." 

"Good  for  you,"  I  declared.  "Where  are 
you  to  preach?" 

"For  Burner,"  Tucker  explained;  "he  wants  a 
Sunday  off.  Do  you  know  whether  he  preaches 
from  manuscript  or  not,  Priddy?" 

"I  think  that  he  does  read  —  I  know  he 
does.  I  recollect  to  have  heard  him  declare 
that  it  was  only  by  reading  that  one  could  get 
logical  sequence:  his  pet  hobby." 

Tucker  held  the  ball  in  the  air  for  a  second 
and  sighed,  audibly.  "That  makes  it  some- 
what easier  for  me,  Priddy.  You  see,  even  if 
I  ramble  on  with  notes,  so  long  as  I  don't  read 
my  sermon  word  for  word,  the  congregation  will 
give  me  credit  for  it,  and  I  may  have  a  chance. 
Anyway,  I  mean  to  keep  on,  even  if  I  am  re- 
buffed again." 

The  following  Sunday  morning,  while  Burner 
was  shaving,  he  said  to  me, 

"I  hope  that  Tucker  has  a  sermon  with  some 
logic  in  it.  Anyway,  he  will  get  back  encour- 
aged. Deacon  Herring  will  see  to  that!"  He 
turned  his  face  from  the  glass  and  smiled  at 
me  through  the  lather. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  demanded. 
[214] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"I  have  written  a  letter  to  my  deacon  — 
about  Tucker  and  the  tight  place  he's  in," 
explained  Burner.  "Told  him  all  the  facts  and 
asked  him  to  work  with  us  to  save  a  good  man 
for  the  Lord's  cause.  After  his  sermon,  no 
matter  how  good  or  ill  it  is,  Deacon  Herring 
will  go  up  to  Tucker  with  a  radiant  face,  tell 
him  how  glad  they  are  to  have  Him  along,  and 
invite  him  to  preach  the  following  Sunday. 
Meanwhile  the  deacon  will  forward  to  me  a 
carefully  written,  frank  criticism  of  Tucker, 
from  which  we  can  diagnose  his  troubles,  fairly, 
and  then  get  some  of  the  professors  to  work  on 
his  case.  Oh,"  and  Burner's  face  was  gleam- 
ing, "I  guess  if  there's  any  good  points  under 
Tucker's  skin,  we'll  uncover  them!" 

It  was  an  unusual  edition  of  Tucker  who 
returned  the  following  day.  I  walked  with 
him,  arm  in  arm  over  to  the  Commons. 

"There,  Priddy,"  he  chattered,  "at  last  I've 
found  somebody  who  thinks  I'm  called  to  preach. 
They  want  me  to  supply  Burner's  pulpit  again 
next  Sunday!  He's  to  have  another  day  off. 
Tired,  he  told  me.  That's  the  best  sort  of 
appreciation,  isn't  it?"  he  added. 

Burner  said  nothing  to  me  or  any  one  else 
about  the  personal  sacrifice  he  made  in  giving 
up  two  Sundays  to  the  discouraged  Tucker, 
but  I  knew  that  the  money  he  gave  up  was 
much  needed.  Burner,  meanwhile,  received 
the  diagnosis  from  his  deacon,  and  reported 

[215] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

matters  to  one  of  the  professors  to  whom  Tucker 
looked  with  great  reverence  and  respect.  The 
result  of  this  came  out  in  a  diplomatic  invi- 
tation, sent  by  the  professor,  for  Tucker  to  come 
and  have  a  talk  about  his  affairs  —  a  perfectly 
natural  request  for  the  professor  to  make. 

It  did  not  take  the  professor  long  —  armed 
as  he  was  by  Burner's  report  —  to  get  from 
Tucker  a  statement  of  his  situation.  Finally, 
the  professor  set  himself  to  work,  not  only 
on  the  written  sermons  of  Tucker,  but  also 
on  his  enunciation,  his  gestures,  and  his  habits 
of  thought. 

"The  professor's  helping  me  wonderfully, "ex- 
claimed Tucker  to  me  one  day,  as  we  took  a  walk 
into  the  outskirts  of  the  city.  "He's  landed 
ker-plunk  on  my  worst  faults,  just  as  if  he  could 
read  me  like  a  book.  You'd  laugh  at  the  sort 
of  mournful  stuff  I've  been  giving  from  the  pul- 
pit! It's  quite  plain  to  me  now.  I've  been  too 
depressing.  That's  been  one  thing.  No  wonder 
the  people  didn't  want  some  of  the  stuff  I've 
been  guilty  of  giving.  It's  optimism  they  want, 
Priddy ,  optimism  I  The  professor's  proved  that, 
all  right !  Just  you  wait  till  next  Sunday,  when 
I  preach  for  Burner.  I'm  to  have  a  sermon, 
entitled,  *  Rejoice,  and  again  I  say,  Rejoice!" 

"What  have  you  been  preaching  on,  Tucker?  " 
I  asked. 

He  smiled,  as  one  who  could  afford  now  to 
smile  at  past  faults. 

[216] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"Judgment,  and  Conscience,  and  the  Inher- 
itance of  Penalty,  and  such-like,"  he  said. 
"Heavy,  eh?" 

"I've  no  doubt  you  had  some  good  ideas  on 
those  subjects,  Tucker,  though,  as  you  say, 
they  are  a  trifle  doleful,  one  after  the  other." 

"Got  thinking  in  a  groove,  Priddy,  that's 
what  the  professor  thought.  But,  of  course, 
I've  other  faults.  I  don't  speak  up  —  just 
whisper:  no  life  or  action.  But,"  he  went  on 
with  a  confidential  smile,  "I'm  working  hard 
on  that,  too.  Mean  to  brighten  up  on  those 
things  next  Sunday;  though  reformation  can't 
come  in  a  day  or  a  week." 

The  next  Monday  a  most  encouraging  report 
came  to  Burner  from  his  deacon.  Among  other 
things,  the  old  man  said  in  his  letter, 

"There  were  not  many  out  to  hear  him,  for 
they  had  not  cared  for  his  preaching  of  the  pre- 
vious Sunday :  but  to  those  of  us  who  had  heard 
him  the  first  time,  his  second  appearance  was 
startling.  First  of  all,  he  seemed  to  have  con- 
fidence. That  was  the  striking  thing.  Then, 
in  his  effort  to  make  himself  heard  he  kept  on 
a  high-pitched  note,  which  was  somewhat  mo- 
notonous, but  more  effective  than  his  former 
timid  whispering  as  if  he  were  afraid  of  burst- 
ing the  ear-drum  of  a  gnat  which  sat  on  his 
desk.  He  fanned  the  air  like  a  windmill  in 
an  effort  to  remedy  lack  of  action:  but  that 
was  a  good  sign.  It  argues  well  for  the  young 

[217] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

man  when  he  gets  on  the  middle  ground.  But 
his  sermon!  He  really  gave  us  a  cheering 
word;  that  made  most  of  the  others,  who  were 
there,  like  him.  Personally,  he  would  be  glad 
to  know  in  what  a  different  way  I  have  taken 
the  application  of  his  sermon,  to  'rejoice,  and 
again  —  rejoice/  I  wish  him  the  best  of  success. 
There  is  hope  for  him.  I  am  getting  one  or  two 
people,  who  told  me  they  like  what  he  had  to  say 
about  rejoicing,  to  write  notes  of  appreciation 
to  him." 

"Twenty  dollars  well  spent!"  concluded 
Burner,  with  a  smile.  "At  the  rate,  he  is  going 
Tucker  will  have  a  church  of  his  own,  over  which 
he  will  cast  his  blessing.  He  has  confidence  — 
now!" 

Late  in  the  spring,  Tucker  found  himself  enjoy- 
ing somewhat  of  a  local  reputation  among  us, 
for  he  was  a  decided  success,  by  that  time,  on 
his  preaching  expeditions.  He  said  to  me, 

"Priddy,  the  other  people  think  I've  got  a 
call  —  now.  I  had  a  narrow  escape,  didn't  I?" 


[218] 


Chapter  XXIV.  Burner,  a 
Searcher  After  'Truth.  How  a 
May-Pole  Subdued  a  Tribe  of 
Little  Savages 

BURNER,   the   upper-classman,   though 
not  my  roommate,  and  by  his  upper- 
class  privileges  under  no  sentimental 
obligations   to  me,   became  my   con- 
stant   companion.     He    was    a    tall, 
thick-set  man  with  a  very  heavy  black  mous- 
tache, much  older  than  myself  and  dominated 
by  a  very  heavy  but  sincere  temperament.     He 
had  been  a  real  estate  agent  and  a  country 
auctioneer  up  to  his  thirtieth  birthday.     Then 
he  had  studied  for  three  years,  privately,  with  a 
high-school  principal,  and  later  he  had  come  to 
the  Seminary  to  put  himself  under  training  for 
the  ministry. 

Burner  almost  frightened  me  by  his  hunger 
and  thirst  after  knowledge,  for  in  him  I  looked 
upon  the  epic  grandeur  of  a  mind,  long  starved, 
completely  awake.  All  the  outstanding,  amaz- 
ing, bewildering  intellectual  problems  of  the 

[219J 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

Universe  and  God,  had  solutions  which  Burner, 
with  a  sense  of  his  limitations,  sought  to  mas- 
ter. I  had  seen  students  of  books  before, 
prize  scholars,  in  Evangelical  University,  but 
I  had  never  beheld  the  workings  of  an  awak- 
ened, mature  mind.  Books  and  the  teachings 
of  the  masters  were  merely  the  starting  points, 
the  paths  of  departure,  for  Burner.  He  sought  his 
path  to  God  and  God's  mind  by  his  own  charts. 
He  was  his  own  authority  in  thought,  an  inde- 
pendent ship  under  full  sail  exploring  unmapped 
territory.  He  would  sit  in  his  Morris  chair, 
in  a  secluded  corner  of  his  room,  with  his  bony 
fingers  propping  up  his  gaunt  chin,  and  with  blaz- 
ing eyes  try  to  think  out,  in  his  own  words,  from 
a  synthesis  of  his  own  observations,  why  God 
permitted  evil.  One  night  he  rushed  into  my 
room  with  almost  fanatical  eagerness  and  com- 
pelled me  to  listen  while,  from  a  newspaper 
item  which  told  of  a  father  who  had  given  some 
of  his  blood  to  his  sickly  child,  he  gave  an  elo- 
quent theory  of  the  Divine  Fatherhood,  sug- 
gested by  that  analogy.  All  his  studies,  in 
language,  science,  and  philosophy  were  focussed 
upon  his  thought  of  God.  They  were  not  merely 
a  discipline,  or  parts  of  a  necessary  curriculum, 
but  the  means  to  an  end,  the  roads  over  which 
he  went  to  a  completer  knowledge  of  his  faith. 
The  most  unrelated  and  even  trivial  items  of 
truth  aroused  his  mind  to  action  and  set  him  at 
work  on  the  most  intricate  and  abstruse  doc- 

[220] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

trines.  He  was  critical  down  to  the  fine  points 
of  sharpening  a  pencil:  he  was  intolerant  of 
those  who  got  their  conclusions  from  text- 
books. 

"I'm  doing  my  own  thinking,"  was  his  fa- 
vorite sentence,  "basing  it  on  careful  reading  and 
minute  information  and  nearly  always  I  find 
that  I  get  conclusions,  after  hard  thought,  that 
I  might  have  secured,  second-hand,  from  books. 
But  oh,  Priddy,  what  a  treat  it  is  to  be  in  the 
Seminary,  filling  in  the  mind  after  it  has  been 
starved  all  these  years!" 

"It  must  be  a  tremendous  inspiration  to  you, 
Burner,"  I  said,  "you  seem  to  enjoy  it  so!" 

"Enjoy  it!"  he  gasped.  "I  revel  in  it!  Just 
think  how  blank  my  mind  was  when  I  came  here ! 
I  thought  they  wouldn't  take  me.  I  had  never 
been  to  college,  and  had  little  preparation. 
When  they  did  take  me  and  give  me  my  chance, 
I  resolved  to  make  up  for  lost  time,  Priddy. 
Other  seminaries  would  have  refused  me,  and 
I  should  never  have  gone  into  the  ministry. 
Of  course  it  is  the  biggest  inspiration  that  has 
ever  come  to  me.  It  is  my  first  real  chance!" 

I  soon  learned  that  I  had  found  in  the  East 
what  I  had  found  in  Evangelical  University,  a 
professional  school  that  was  willing  to  bend  to 
the  service  of  the  ambitious  but  unprepared 
student.  But  in  the  Seminary  there  was  more 
point  and  breadth  to  the  teaching;  the  stud- 
ies were  more  thorough,  intellectually  more 

[221] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

satisfying;  so,  with  Burner  and  with  many  others 
who,  like  myself,  had  never  been  to  college,  I 
began  the  exciting  adventure  into  disciplined 
truth. 

It  was  rich  fare  to  which  I  was  invited,  dur- 
ing that  first  year:  the  tough  meat,  Hebrew, 
which  even  moderately  digested,  meant  exe- 
getical  strength  in  Old  Testament  lore,  the  ten- 
derer portions  of  Greek  which  nourished  one's 
New  Testament  appetite;  entrees  of  psychol- 
ogy and  philosophy;  well-baked  and  spiced 
Church  history,  and  a  various  dessert  of  special 
lectures  comprising  every  viand  from  the  art 
of  preaching  to  nerve-stirring  appreciations  of 
social  movements. 

The  social  life  of  Evangelical  University  had 
been  so  narrow  that  I  was  ready  to  appreciate 
the  broadness  of  that  permitted  us  in  the  Sem- 
inary. The  professors  had  us  in  their  homes 
for  teas  and  dinners.  The  intimate  touch  be- 
tween us  and  our  teachers  formed  part  of  the 
discipline  of  those  years.  There  was  hardly 
any  sign  of  that  academic  aloofness  which  I  had 
always  supposed  to  be  characteristic  of  eastern 
institutions.  I  ran  into  the  room  of  a  sick  class- 
mate one  Saturday  morning,  only  to  find  him 
being  nursed  by  the  professor  of  theology. 
The  utmost  freedom  of  thought  was  given  us 
in  the  speculations  of  the  classrooms.  It  was 
an  atmosphere  where  bigotry  and  dogmatism 
could  not  live  overnight.  Our  lives,  by  being 

[222] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

linked  to  that  of  the  Seminary,  began  to  be 
linked  to  the  life  of  the  city;  for  the  churches 
and  the  people  showed  us  many  thoughtful 
courtesies,  took  us  into  their  circles,  and  made 
many  winter  evenings  merry  and  profitable. 

I  still  had  to  rely  upon  my  own  efforts  for 
money,  but  the  days  of  loading  brick,  raking 
lawns,  making  furnace  fires,  were  gone  now,  and 
I  was  enabled  to  earn  money  in  a  more  pro- 
fessional way.  I  was  given  the  task  of  organ- 
izing some  children  for  one  of  the  smaller 
churches  of  the  city.  One  hundred  of  them 
met  me  on  Sunday  afternoons,  in  the  body  of 
the  church,  where  for  an  hour  we  tried  to  get 
along  harmoniously  together  and  incidentally 
learn  some  concrete  definitions  of  the  Kingdom 
of  God.  I  tried  to  preach  through  pictures  on 
a  blackboard  and  through  objects  like  keys  and 
nails,  knives  and  flowers.  Many  of  the  little 
ones  were  not  used  to  church  etiquette,  so  I  had 
to  wander  away  from  the  Kingdom  of  God 
many  times  to  instruct  some  of  them  concern- 
ing the  necessity  of  taking  off  caps  in  church, 
of  the  inhumanity  of  pulling  one  another's 
hair  braids,  of  the  in  judiciousness  of  poking 
pins  in  one  another's  necks.  Often,  too,  when 
the  neighborhood,  after  a  Sunday  feast  of 
mutton  and  peas,  was  enjoying  its  mid-after- 
noon slumbers,  some  of  the  boys  would  whirl 
the  church  bell  and  make  startled  men  and 
women  imagine  it  was  the  fourth  alarm  of  a 

[223] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

fire.  I  had  to  correct  that  practise.  We  held 
several  socials  during  the  year,  socials  of  a 
unique  character.  My  assistants  would  keep 
the  door  locked  in  the  little  chapel  until  the 
oil  lamps  had  been  lifted  out  of  danger.  The 
popcorn  and  candy  would  be  put  on  tables  in 
heaps  and  the  signal  of  admission  given.  Into 
the  room  the  horde  of  yelling,  scrambling  chil- 
dren would  come  and  fill  it  with  all  manner 
of  wild  romping.  The  refreshments  would  be 
given,  there  would  follow  another  wild  frolic, 
and  at  half-past  eight  the  children  would  go 
home  persuaded  that  they  had  had  "a  dandy 
time!  Three  helpings  of  popcorn  and  all  the 
lemonade  you  could  drink!" 

When  the  first  of  May  arrived,  I  announced 
a  picnic  for  the  children,  and  though  the  day 
was  cold,  more  than  our  actual  membership 
appeared  —  with  individual  lunches.  When  we 
arrived  at  the  grove  I  had  to  stand  guard  over 
the  lunches  until  the  noon  hour.  Then,  after 
an  afternoon  of  disordered  fun  and  fight,  I  man- 
aged to  secure  order  on  the  way  home  by  per- 
mitting the  children  to  hold  the  ribbons  of  the 
May -pole  and  to  trail  behind  in  orderly  proces- 
sion, singing,  as  we  entered  the  residential  sec- 
tion of  the  city,  very  piously  and  earnestly, 
"Onward,  Christian  Soldiers!" 

Meanwhile  the  arched  elms  on  the  seminary 
campus  leafed  out  and  shaded  the  walks  with 
cool  shadows.  The  students  met  after  supper, 

[224] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

threw  off  their  coats,  and  played  ball  until 
darkness.  The  robins  began  to  perch  on  my 
bedroom  window  ledge  and  waken  me  by  their 
dulcet  flutings  long  before  breakfast.  The 
fumes  of  burning  leaves  came  through  the  open 
windows  from  the  campus.  It  was  spring  and 
it  was  graduation  time  for  the  seniors. 

It  was  the  season  of  the  year  when  at  Evan- 
gelical University  the  students,  like  Thropper, 
would  be  planning  to  earn  money  during  the 
coming  vacation  by  taking  subscriptions  for 
"The  Devil  in  Society"  and  similar  objects; 
but  my  summer  was  to  be  one  full  of  inspira- 
tional and  serviceable  possibilities.  It  had  been 
arranged  for  me,  by  the  seminary  president, 
that  I  should  take  two  schoolhouses  in  a  far- 
away district  and  preach  during  the  long  vaca- 
tion. At  last  I  was  to  actually  enter  upon  my 
chosen  profession. 


[225] 


Chapter  XXV.  At  the  Heart 
of  Human  Nature.  A  Confiden- 
tial Walk  with  a  Dollar  Bill  at 
the  End  of  it.  A  Philosophical  Ob- 
servation from  the  Stage-Driver 

A?OUR  hours'  journey  by  train,  each 
minute    going   farther    and    farther 
away  from  thickly  settled  country, 
and  then  I  found  myself  waiting  on 
a  depot  platform  for  the  stage-driver 
who  was  to  conduct  me  to  Upper  and  Lower 
Village,  twelve  miles  from  the  railroad. 

I  looked  around  and  when  my  eyes  lighted 
on  a  wooden-legged  man,  seated  on  the  front 
seat  of  a  democrat  wagon,  I  knew  that  I  had 
found  the  conveyance.  I  went  over  to  him  and 
said, 

"Are  you  going  to  Upper  and  Lower  Village?  " 

He  aimed  some  colored  expectoration  over  his 

horse's  ear,  watched  it  alight  upon  a  fluttering 

piece   of   paper,   and   then,   satisfied   with   his 

marksmanship,  he  said,  gruffly, 

[226] 


in! 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

Ef  you're  th'  Elder,  why,  I  got  a  seat.     Jump 


The  day  was  excessively  hot,  and  we  sat 
under  the  full  glare  of  the  sun.  We  left  the 
little  railroad  village  and  plunged  on  through 
the  churned-up  swirls  of  choking  dust  straight 
into  the  isolation  of  this  world,  into  a  part  of 
New  England  where  whole  townships  have  not 
even  yet  attained  unto  the  dignity  of  names,  but 
like  prisoners  with  their  suffrage  taken  from 
them,  must  be  known  by  mere  numbers. 

The  forests  had  been  leveled,  and  there  were 
innumerable  acres  of  deforested  land  covered 
with  rusty  branches  which  had  been  left  after 
the  choppers  had  trimmed  the  logs.  After 
several  miles,  we  came  to  wide  stretches  of  plain, 
covered  with  blueberry  bushes. 

A  dip  in  the  road,  and  we  had  plowed 
through  the  last  inch  of  dust:  the  wheels  of  the 
democrat  rattled  merrily  over  the  stone  road 
of  Lower  Village.  Word  had  been  telephoned 
from  the  first  farm  we  had  passed  that  "the 
new  Elder  was  on  the  stage  with  Bill."  The 
women  boldly  stood  at  their  doors  watching; 
from  behind  many  windows  I  saw  intent  faces 
engaged  in  taking  a  comprehensive  glance  at 
me.  I  maintained  a  stolid  attitude,  and  pre- 
tended not  to  be  aware  of  the  intense  and  con- 
tinuous surveillance  to  which  I  was  subjected. 
We  thundered  over  a  wooden  bridge,  went  up 
a  steep  hill,  and  drew  rein  at  a  long  veranda, 

[227] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

which  "Bill"  informed  me  was  the  "Office, 
whar  you  git  down." 

A  tall,  timid  octogenarian,  in  shirtsleeves, 
whose  thick  trousers  were  drawn  up  tightly 
above  soil-daubed  shoes,  introduced  himself 
as  "the  deacon"  and  conducted  me  to  a  little 
house  down  a  lane  which  ended  in  a  pasture. 
The  hot  air  of  the  day  was  fragrant  with  the 
odor  of  sweet-smelling  foliage.  Crows  were 
screaming  in  the  distance  over  the  tops  of 
some  burnt  pines.  A  woman,  tall  and  thin  and 
pale,  welcomed  me  with  all  the  hospitality  with 
which  a  mother  would  welcome  a  son.  I  knew 
from  that  moment  that  I  had  a  pleasant  summer 
before  me. 

The  two  villages  were  nothing  more  than 
single  rows  of  houses  on  either  side  of  a  main 
road.  That  road  went  inland  for  miles  and  miles 
through  immeasurable  solitudes,  where  no  man 
dwelt.  We  were  at  the  end  of  the  world, 
apparently. 

Then  began  my  missionary  experience.  I 
was  passed  from  home  to  home,  sometimes 
staying  but  three  days  in  one  place:  the  object 
being  both  economical  and  social.  The  cost 
of  my  board,  under  this  arrangement,  was 
very  light  on  each  household,  and  as  each  host- 
ess was  not  satisfied  unless  she  gave  the  "Elder" 
the  very  best  cooking  she  could  produce,  my 
short  stay  did  not  permit  any  embarrassment 
to  the  menu.  But  more  especially  this  arrange- 

[228] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

merit  made  it  possible  for  me  to  know  nearly 
every  family  in  my  parishes  intimately,  as  the 
association  with  the  families  at  the  table  was 
the  means  of  establishing  more  than  a  perfunc- 
tory friendship.  They  learned  some  of  my 
shortcomings,  and  I  was  made  aware  of  their 
needs.  When,  in  the  latter  part  of  the  sum- 
mer, I  was  boarding  in  Upper  Village,  in  the 
shadow  of  the  mountain,  and  went  down  to 
Lower  Village  for  a  Wednesday  evening  meet- 
ing, one  of  the  households  expected  me  to  creep 
into  the  house  with  the  eldest  son,  go  into  the 
pantry  and  "steal"  huge  slices  of  blueberry 
cake.  This  done,  the  husband  and  wife  would 
come  into  the  kitchen,  have  a  hearty  laugh, 
and  before  I  started  back  for  my  boarding-place, 
we  would  have  our  serious  talk  over  matters 
of  faith  and  life. 

There  were  few  well-to-do  farmers  in  the 
community.  The  distance  was  too  great  from 
the  railroads  for  the  injection  of  much  social 
life.  The  winters  were  filled  with  days  when 
life  was  grim.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  tele- 
phone and  the  mail,  the  life  of  that  back  road 
would  have  been  without  any  great  attractions. 
But  the  very  isolation  of  the  villages,  and  the 
absence  of  many  social  opportunities  through 
the  winter,  like  a  church  and  preaching,  made 
these  farmers  the  prey  of  traveling  fanatics, 
who  imported  here  and  there  the  most  fanciful 
conceptions  of  religion  and  sought,  by  all  man- 

[229] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

ner  of  persuasion,  to  turn  people  into  Mor- 
mons and  "New  Lights,"  "Holy  Ghosters"  and 
"Disciples."  It  did  not  take  long  to  see  that 
some  of  these  perversions  had  taken  root  in 
some  homes,  and  I  found  myself  having  to 
attempt  the  feat  of  constructing  a  positive  and 
less  fanatical  doctrine :  a  feat  which  at  the  time 
I  did  poorly  enough,  but  which  I  took  pleasure 
in  attempting.  But  it  was  not  formal  doctrine 
or  intellectual  discriminations  which  those  par- 
ishes needed  as  much  as  it  was  a  social  man,  to 
impart  into  their  midst,  after  the  austere  winter, 
a  joke,  a  song,  a  story,  and  a  friendly  hand- 
clasp. If  I  had  preached  no  sermon,  but  merely 
gone  from  home  to  home,  from  field  to  field, 
telling  men  and  women  and  children  that  I 
was  their  friend,  I  believe  that  I  should  have 
accomplished  the  major  part  of  the  needed 
ministry. 

The  meetings  were  held  in  the  upper  rooms 
of  two  very  solidly  constructed  schoolhouses 
four  miles  apart.  Our  meetings  had  to  be 
announced  in  two  kinds  of  time,  for  some  set 
their  clocks  by  the  sun,  while  others  set  them 
by  the  Standard,  sent  over  the  telephone  wires. 
The  dim,  chalky  atmosphere  of  the  rooms  was 
always  colored  by  rich  green  ferns  and  assort- 
ments of  wild  flowers.  Even  though  the 
flowers  were  bunched  in  the  necks  of  mustard 
bottles,  tumblers,  and  cream  jugs,  and  not 
always  arranged  according  to  Japanese  art, 

[230] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

yet  the  thought  that  the  sense  of  beauty  in 
religion  found  expression  even  in  wild  flowers 
apologized  for  all  else.  When  the  hob-nailed 
boot  and  the  plow,  year  in  and  out,  are  uproot- 
ing and  crushing  field  flowers,  it  marks  the  high 
tide  of  esthetic  appreciation  when  the  wearers 
of  the  hob-nailed  boot  and  guiders  of  the  plow 
take  pains  to  pick  those  flowers  and  add  them 
to  their  hymns,  their  prayers,  and  sermons  in 
praise  to  God. 

No  small,  narrow  opportunity  was  mine, 
such  as  in  my  gloomier  moments  I  had  ascribed 
to  a  country  pastor.  Preaching  a  sermon 
formed  but  a  fraction  of  my  duty.  There  were 
young  men  and  women  who  sought  advice 
about  the  outside  world,  and  their  business 
chances  in  it.  There  were  business  colleges, 
academies,  hospitals,  and  mills  to  propose  to 
the  restless  ones,  who,  like  young  birds,  were 
to  try  life  on  their  own  wings. 

Entwined  in  the  pastoral  work,  were  many 
social  pleasures  that  made  my  body  strong  and 
rested  my  nerves :  adventures  over  the  high  hills 
for  soul-subduing  vistas  of  mountains  and  lakes ; 
trout  fries  by  the  side  of  meadow  brooks;  pic- 
nics by  the  river;  visits  to  bark-peeling  camps, 
over  corduroy  roads,  and  encampment  on  a 
lake  shore  where  at  night  the  wild  birds  gave 
voice  and  were  interpreted  to  us  by  a  guide. 

The  golden-rod  lined  the  dusty  road  at  last, 
and  the  purple  flowers  took  the  place  of  the 

[231] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

lighter  summer  ones,  and  it  was  time  for  me  to 
return  to  the  Seminary.  The  services  were 
crowded  that  last  Sunday;  mothers  brought 
their  babies  and  did  not  care  if  the  little  ones 
did  compete  with  me,  in  voice.  I  knew  what 
was  in  the  faces,  as  they  looked  intently  on 
me,  as  I  preached.  They  were  thinking  that 
this  would  probably  be  the  last  preaching  they 
would  hear  until  the  following  summer,  unless 
some  stray,  itinerant  evangelist  strolled  that 
way  and  [opened  up  the  schoolhouse  for  an  eve- 
ning. There  were  many  tearful  farewells,  and 
then  the  people  went  out  into  the  night.  It 
was  a  clear  night  of  stars  and  chill.  As  I  left 
the  schoolhouse,  having  bade  good-bye  to  the 
janitor,  for  I  was  due  to  leave  on  the  next  morn- 
ing's stage,  a  young  farmer  stepped  out  from  the 
deep  shadow  of  an  oak  near  the  flag-staff  and 
accosted  me  with, 

"Say,  Elder,  do  you  care  to  go  up  the  road  a 
piece?  " 

I  responded  that  I  should  enjoy  a  walk  and 
a  chat  with  him. 

While  we  walked  between  two  walls  of  trees, 
our  way  dimly  outlined  by  the  faint  flicker  of 
the  stars,  my  friend  said, 

"I'm  one  of  the  bashful  sort,  Elder.  You 
know  that;  but  I  didn't  want  you  to  leave  with- 
out having  me  tell  you  how  much  you  have 
helped  my  folks  this  summer.  The  time  you 
come  in  our  house  and  played  and  sang  at  the 

[232] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

organ  for  us,  and  cheered  us  up  with  a  laugh, 
why  it  made  things  different  in  our  house. 
Since  mother  died,  we've  been  having  a  hard 
row  to  hoe,  and  you  don't  know  how  much  we've 
appreciated  the  cheering  up  you  give  us.  It 
gets  terrible  lonesome  out  here  through  the 
winter,  and  I  want  to  thank  you  for  all  that 
you've  done!" 

We  took  a  long  walk  through  the  night,  pay- 
ing no  attention  to  distance;  but  sharing  con- 
fidences in  true  brotherly  fashion.  Then  we 
turned  about  and  when  we  came  to  the  cross- 
road, in  front  of  the  schoolhouse,  we  clasped 
hands,  and  as  he  hurried,  without  another 
word,  into  the  darkness  towards  his  mother- 
less home,  I  felt  something  crisp  hi  the  palm  of 
my  hand.  When  I  returned  to  my  room  and 
had  a  light  I  found  that  he  had  given  me  a 
dollar  bill  for  a  thank  offering. 

The  next  morning  I  had  my  baggage  on  the 
stage,  this  time  for  a  return.  Bill,  with  his 
wooden  leg,  greeted  me,  for  by  this  time  we 
were  old  friends.  The  word  of  parting  was 
given  at  the  post-office,  and  the  democrat 
rattled  down  the  grade  and  over  the  bridge. 
This  time  a  continuous  flutter  of  handkerchiefs 
and  aprons,  and  a  continuous  hearty  shout  from 
the  men  and  boys,  followed  our  passage  through 
the  two  villages  and  then  we  drove  into  the 
dusk  of  the  road  through  the  blueberry  barrens, 
Bill  aiming  expectoration  at  every  soap  sign 

[233] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

within  reach,  and  confiding  in  me,  on  the 
way,  the  fact  that  he  had  loved  once  and 
"lost,"  which  he  seemed  to  take  in  a  very 
philosophical  mood,  for  he  concluded  with  this 
phrase,  "You  can't  get  the  hang  of  wimmen, 
anyhow!" 


[234] 


Chapter  XXF 7.  The  Strange 
Adventure  of  Burner  into  Nothing, 
and  How  my  Own  Mind  Got  into 
Trouble,  and  How  my  Faith  was 
Strengthened  under  the  Chapel 
Window 

ON  my  return  to  the  Seminary  I  found 
Burner  in  the  throes  of  intellectual 
despair.     The  big  fellow  was  sitting 
in  his  room,  half  buried  in  the  depths 
of  the  green  Morris  chair,  his  bony 
fingers  prodded  into  his  working  brows. 
"What's  wrong,  Burner?"  I  demanded. 
"I've  been  thinking  back  too  far,"  announced 
the  serious  fellow. 

:<  Thinking  back  too  far?"  I  gasped. 
"Yes,"  he  muttered.     "I've  nothing  to  stand 
on,  now." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I've  thought  away  all  substance  —  now!" 
he  moaned,  in  despair.     "I  can't  even  conceive 
a  God!" 
"Burner!" 

[235] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"Horrible,  isn't  it,  Priddy?" 

"What  do  you  mean  —  explain,  so  that  I 
can  get  this  thing  by  its  head,"  I  suggested. 

Burner  seriously  gathered  himself  together 
in  his  chair,  sipped  from  a  glass  of  water,  and 
then  began, 

"Probably  I  do  too  much  thinking;  maybe 
that's  what's  the  matter,  Priddy.  When  I 
left  here,  last  June,  and  went  out  for  the  sum- 
mer, I  began  to  try  to  think  through  substance; 
I  thought  I  might  do  it,  sometime.  I  got  to 
thinking  about  it,  when  I  took  my  walks  over 
the  hills,  and  kept  thinking  about  it,  but,  some- 
how, I  couldn't  get  my  thought  back  of  the 
material.  When  I  got  back  here,  last  week,  I 
was  sitting  in  this  chair,  when  all  of  a  sudden 
I  did  think  back  of  God;  and  conceived  all 
reality  as  being  so  immaterial  that  nothing 
exists:  no,  nothing!"  he  shouted,  "not  even  — 
God!" 

"Can't  you  think  back  again  —  to  him?"  I 
demanded,  making  an  effort  to  be  of  some  assist- 
ance and  comfort  to  the  disconsolate  man. 

Burner  stood  on  his  feet,  and  paced  the  floor, 
excitedly,  and  said  as  he  gestured  with  his 
hands, 

"I've  got  to  be  honest  —  with  truth,  no  mat- 
ter how  far  it  leads  me!" 

"Yes!" 

"Just  think  how  horrible  it  is;  I've  thought 
back  till  I've  struck  nothing  —  nothing!" 

[236] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"Come,  it's  not  so  bad  as  that,  Burner,  is 
it?" 

"I  shan't  be  able  to  preach,  to  study,  to 
believe  anything!"  he  declared.  "How  can  I 
when  there  is  nothing  to  preach,  to  study,  or 
to  believe?" 

I  could  not  conceive  a  more  pathetic  restraint 
on  a  man  who  sought  to  get  his  living  by  preach- 
ing and  study. 

"Perhaps  some  of  the  professors  might  help 
you  back  —  at  least  as  far  as  a  belief  in  God," 
I  suggested,  timidly. 

"Oh,  if  I  only  could  get  back  there,"  he 
pleaded,  "I  would  pray  about  the  matter,  but 
I  can't  pray  to  nothing,  can  I?" 

I  began  then  to  realize  how  much  a  dilemma 
a  philosophical  honesty  could  create. 

"You  are  too  serious,  Burner,"  I  proposed. 
:'You  ought  to  take  some  things  for  granted; 
not  seek  to  explain  everything,  you  know." 

He  looked  at  me  through  astonished  eyes, 

"I  will  take  nothing  for  granted  that  cannot 
bear  the  test  of  logic!" 

"There,"  I  cried  exultantly,  "your  intellec- 
tual adventures  have  brought  you  into  German 
Rationalism:  that's  just  what's  the  matter  with 
you,  Burner.  You're  not  the  first  one  that  has 
been  caught.  It  is  a  passing  experience.  Keep 
on  thinking,  old  fellow,  you'll  come  back  after 
a  time.  It  looks  serious  now,  but  it's  only  a 
phase.  Read  the  biographies  of  some  of  the 

[237] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

saints;  it  will  help  you  back  to  a  positive  faith, 
I'm  sure." 

So  I  left  him  with  that  comfort,  hoping  that 
he  would  not  leave  the  Seminary  in  his  intel- 
lectual excitement,  for  I  felt  sure  that  his 
Rationalism  or  Agnosticism  or  whatever  form 
of  mind  he  was  in,  would  pass  and  give  way  to 
something  with  more  color  and  inspiration  in  it. 

Our  studies  for  the  second  year  were  more 
practical  and  philosophical  than  those  we  re- 
ceived during  the  first  year.  I  was  ready  to 
appreciate  the  value  of  the  studies  more  after 
my  summer's  experience  as  a  missionary.  The 
intellectual  honesty  and  sincerity  of  Burner 
was  indicative  of  the  spirit  which  one  of  the 
professors,  who  later  left  us,  engendered  in  us. 
One  incident  will  illustrate  the  temper  of  his 
art  of  teaching.  Our  class,  in  its  first  year, 
had  approached  this  man's  recitation  with  a 
feeling  of  fear,  for  his  astute  mind  and  his 
impassive  manner  in  the  classroom,  and  withal, 
his  absolute  fearlessness  in  bringing  up  the 
other  side  of  an  affirmative,  had  not  reacted  in 
his  favor.  Even  before  we  knew  him,  we  had 
him  placarded,  in  our  minds,  as  an  unbeliever! 
One  day  when  we  came  into  his  class  we  found 
that  some  one  had  written  on  the  blackboard, 
the  professor's  name  with  this  legend  after  it: 

"Professor  -     -  Atheist!" 

When  he  came  into  the  classroom,  and  saw  that, 
I  thought  he  would  burst  into  tears;  a  look  of 

[238] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

patient  wonder  came  into  his  eyes,  and  he 
merely  said  to  me, 

"Mr.  Priddy,  will  you  kindly  take  the  eraser 
and  give  us  a  clean  blackboard!" 

Our  first  class  under  this  teacher  was  one  in 
psychology.  We  met  and  his  first  question 
was, 

"What  are  we  to  study?" 

Instantly  one  of  my  classmates  replied, 

"Psychology!" 

"What  is  psychology?" 

My  classmate,  who  had  read  the  definition 
in  the  day's  lesson  replied,  confidently, 

"'The  study  of  the  mind  and  the  processes 
of  the  mind,'  sir." 

"Ah,  and  what  do  you  mean  by  the  mind? 
What  do  you  know  about  the  mind?  Have 
you  ever  seen  one?" 

My  classmate  stammered, 

"Why  — eh,  no,  sir." 

"Then  perhaps  some  one  else  will  inform  me 
what  we  are  here  for?" 

No  one  was  willing. 

"Then  you  will  return  to  your  rooms,  gentle- 
men," said  the  professor,  without  a  trace  of  a 
smile,  "and  come  tomorrow  at  the  same  hour 
and  tell  us  what  we  are  to  study  during  the 
year.  I  really  must  know.  We  cannot  get 
along  until  I  do." 

The  next  day,  some  of  us  met,  before  the  class 
and  conspired  to  teach  that  professor  his  les- 

[239] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

son.  We  memorized  the  definitions  and  the 
explanations  so  that  it  would  be  impossible  for 
us  to  slip.  Then  we  entered  the  classroom. 

"What  are  we  here  for,  gentlemen?"  began 
the  professor. 

Instantly  the  answer  came  from  the  corner, 

"To  study  psychology,  sir." 

"Will  any  one  tell  me  what  is  meant  by 
psychology?" 

"A  study  of  the  mind  and  the  processes  of 

the  mind,  as  such/  "  responded  another  student. 

"As  such.'     What  is  meant  by  that,  sir?" 

One  of  my  classmates  undertook  to  explain 
that  "as  such"  meant  that  the  "states  of  the 
mind"  were  to  be  studied  as  "states  of  the 
mind,"  and  not  as  —  eh  —  ' 

"Mince  pies?"  asked  the  professor,  with  a 
slight,  serious  elevation  of  his  eyebrows. 

For  the  next  five  minutes  he  went  around 
the  class  involving  each  one  of  us  in  our  own 
ignorance  until  it  was  impossible  for  him  to 
get  a  reply  to  any  one  of  his  questions. 

"Too  bad,"  he  muttered,  seriously.  "I  really 
don't  see  how  we  are  to  get  on.  This  won't  do. 
You  had  better  go  back  to  your  rooms  and  come 
tomorrow  and  see  if  we  can  let  in  any  daylight 
on  this  matter.  Good  afternoon,  gentlemen!" 

We  resolved  that  we  would  not  study  a  single 
word  for  the  morrow;  but  that  we  would  go  into 
the  class  and  have  no  information  to  offer.  We 
would  see  how  the  professor  would  like  that! 

[240] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

The  following  afternoon,  pursuant  to  this 
plan,  when  the  professor  had  greeted  us,  his 
first  question  was, 

"What  are  we  to  study?  Can  any  one  tell 
me?"  It  brought  no  response. 

He  looked  around  the  room  in  great  astonish- 
ment and  went  from  man  to  man,  asking, 

"Can  you  tell  me?"  and  each  time  getting 
a  decided  and  belligerent  negative. 

Then  a  smile  of  satisfaction  lighted  up  his 
sober  face  and  he  said, 

"There,  gentlemen.  Now  that  you  have 
made  up  your  minds  that  you  know  nothing 
about  psychology,  I  am  ready  to  begin  to  teach 
you!"  and  from  then  to  the  end  of  the  year 
we  sat  under  instruction  that  was  masterly, 
inspiring. 

This  spirit  of  thoroughness  and  critical 
honesty  was  needed  during  the  second  year, 
for  we  were  constructing  a  personal  faith:  a 
task  more  serious  than  the  mere  acquisition  of 
historic  facts  or  encyclopaedic  knowledge.  But 
the  teachers  were  patient,  kindly,  and  watched 
us  let  conservative  and  traditional  habits  of 
mind  go,  not  in  any  spirit  of  intolerance.  There 
were  many  times,  that  year,  when  I  found  my- 
self almost  duplicating  Burner's  misery,  by 
sitting  in  my  room  and  wondering,  after  I  had 
let  go  my  traditional  habits  of  thought  about 
God  and  the  Bible,  what  I  should  do  without 
faith.  But  as  one  conception  went,  another, 

[2411 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

larger  conception  came,  and  I  found  a  nobler 
faith  than  I  ever  had  before.  The  self-distrust 
and  miserable  vacancy  of  doubt,  were,  as  I  had 
blunderingly  told  Burner,  mere  phases  towards 
a  positive  faith.  One  winter  morning,  after 
a  night  of  mental  struggle,  during  which  I 
suffered  fully  as  much  as  I  had  ever  suffered 
from  any  physical  hardship,  I  went  out  on 
the  campus  to  walk  about  in  the  crisp  air. 
The  students  had  just  gone  into  the  chapel  for 
morning  prayers.  I  stopped  under  the  win- 
dows and  heard  the  drone  of  the  parlor  organ. 
Then,  on  the  quietness  of  the  morning,  the 
manly  melody  came  to  my  ears:  a  hymn  reso- 
nant with  a  man's  faith,  and  bringing  peace  to 
my  doubts.  "Oh,  Love  That  Will  Not  Let  Me 
Go,"  they  were  singing,  a  monkish,  monastic 
tinge  to  it,  coming  from  male  throats,  —  only 
the  tenor  was  too  boyish  for  a  monk,  too  thrill- 
ingly  rampant  in  its  ambitious  soaring  after 
God  over  the  high  notes.  But  it  soothed  me 
and  I  went  in  the  strength  of  that  hymn  for 
many  days. 


[242] 


Chapter  XXriL    The  Wonder- 
ful Summer  on  the  Pleasure  Island 

MY     next     opportunity     of  earning 
money  for  my  education  came  in 
a  call  to  preach  on  Sundays  in  a 
little  church  sixty  miles  from  the 
Seminary  at  a  fashionable  summer 
resort.     The  compensation  to  be  ten  dollars  a 
week :  compensation  for  three  days'  absence  from 
the  Seminary,  one  hundred  and  twenty  miles 
of  travel  and  expenses,  and  the  nervous  exertion 
of  preaching  twice  and  teaching  a  Sunday-school 
class,   not   excluding   pastoral   work  whenever 
opportunity  should  offer! 

These  weekly  journeys  began  when  I  arose 
on  Saturday  morning  at  five  o'clock,  drank  a 
hastily  prepared  cup  of  cocoa,  and  hurried  off 
to  the  station  for  the  six  o'clock  train.  Then 
the  train  would  start  on  its  way  through  the 
snow-drifts,  puffing  and  gasping  down  white 
aisles  through  rows  of  stiff,  stately  pines  whose 
hands  held  puffy  clouds  of  snow,  and  then  fol- 
lowed a  slow  passage  through  miles  of  birches 
bending  low  under  the  weight  of  wet  snow  like 
robed  saints  humbled  by  too  great  a  weight  of 

[243J 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

glory.  The  railway  trip  was  followed  by  a 
steamer  journey  of  eight  miles  through  a  heavy, 
sad  sea  which  never  seemed  to  have  any  light 
in  it,  and  in  whose  icy  surface  pretty  grey  and 
mottled  gulls  were  not  afraid  to  dip  their  pal- 
pitating breasts.  The  steamer  put  me  ashore 
on  an  island  whose  centre  was  loaded  with  a 
serried  row  of  little  mountains.  At  the  landing 
I  found  a  stage  and  drove  for  eight  miles  over 
the  island  to  my  parish.  The  stage  horse  rushed 
us  down  dipping  roads  that  threaded  between 
precipitous  mountain  sides,  whose  summits 
were  desert  rocks  and  at  whose  feet  had  crumbled 
cliff  after  cliff  of  red  rock,  spread  out  like  a 
rusty  iron  yard.  Then  the  road  became  a 
climb  until  some  highlands  were  attained  and 
we  sped  through  a  little  fishing  village  which 
nestled  close  to  a  mysterious,  secluded  cove, 
guarded  by  stern,  fretted  cliffs,  a  place  where 
Stevenson  would  have  had  a  cave  of  smugglers 
or  the  anchorage  of  a  rakish  pirate  craft.  Then 
came  a  turn  in  the  road,  where,  behind  a  fringe 
of  thick,  old  gold  birches  and  in  the  midst  of 
some  dead  oak  stumps,  nature  had  placed  a 
cathedral  pile  of  gigantic  slabs  of  stone,  one  on 
another,  as  if  to  show  to  man  what  the  angels 
of  strength  could  do  once  they  started  to  build 
with  stone.  Next  followed  a  bewildering  ride 
over  a  spiral  road  up  a  steep  hill  on  which  stood 
aristocratic  summer  homes.  At  a  lookout 
where  the  road  took  a  sudden  dip,  one  saw  the 

[244] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

cold  ocean  far  down  below  with  its  heavy, 
listless  breakers  pounding  wearily  against  the 
iron  cliffs,  as  if  saying,  "Why  do  the  poets  in- 
sist on  our  ceaselessly  trying  to  shatter  this 
cliff?  I  wish  they  would  let  us  rest  through  the 
winter,  till  the  summer  visitors  come:  then  I 
will  pound  like  Vulcan's  hammer  to  please 
them!"  In  the  distance,  little  dismal  islands 
stood  in  the  sea  like  burnt  dumplings  in  gravy. 
Over  them  the  gulls  were  screaming  and  wail- 
ing, adding  to  the  solitude  and  the  winter's 
dreariness.  Then  the  stage  slanted  down  the 
hill  and  after  a  long,  twisting  ride  drew  up 
before  the  village  post-office,  where  I  met  my 
host  and  was  duly  welcomed  as  the  new  minister. 

Back  and  forth,  week  after  week,  returning 
to  the  Seminary  on  Monday  evenings,  I  accom- 
plished my  journeys  faithfully.  Each  week 
besides  my  studies  I  had  to  plan  for  the  church. 
There  was  little  time  for  idleness,  for  the  hours 
of  recreation  were  taken  up  in  travel.  On 
these  trips  I  took  a  book  and  tried  to  have  it 
read  on  my  return. 

But  my  reward  was  near  at  hand.  The 
summer  arrived,  and  with  it  an  inflow  of  wealth, 
honor,  and  leisure  to  my  parish.  A  wonderful 
transformation  came  over  the  island  —  the 
Pleasure  Island.  Boards  were  unscrewed  from 
cottage  windows.  The  dead  grass  gave  way  to 
green  carpets.  Lifeless  sticks  budded  with 
colored  foliage.  The  dead  sea  and  the  listless 

[245] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

waves  became  animated  with  restless  energy. 
The  sun  kissed  the  roads  into  smoothness  and 
lined  the  highways  with  flowers.  Fresh  painted 
steamers,  with  flying  banners,  whistled  into  the 
wharves  and  unloaded  crowds  of  visitors.  Steam 
yachts  lay  at  anchor  in  the  cove.  The  white 
wings  of  yawls  and  catboats  were  dipping  in 
the  breeze.  The  mountain  paths  had  been  re- 
charted  and  were  filled  with  adventurers.  The 
pine  groves  and  the  quiet  cliffs  lured  tired  men 
and  women  to  their  restful  silences.  Trout 
fishers  rubbed  oil  of  camphor  over  their  faces 
to  restrain  the  ambitious  stings  of  flies  and 
mosquitoes,  and  sought  the  brook  pools  where 
Walton's  classic  trout  waited  to  be  played  with. 
My  little  rustic  church  became  filled  with  city 
people,  who  not  only  sat  in  the  pews,  but  sang 
in  the  choir,  decorated  the  pulpit  with  flowers  and 
grasses,  and  served  on  responsible  committees. 

Then,  too,  my  rest  and  opportunity  came,  for 
we  had  a  list  of  distinguished  clergymen  and 
professors  who  were  to  occupy  my  pulpit  every 
Sunday  morning,  for  the  resort  was  very  rich 
in  clerical  talent  of  a  willing  and  gracious  sort. 
We  had  so  much  professional  talent  indeed,  that 
one  morning  near  the  post-office  I  beheld  two 
bishops,  two  university  presidents,  two  professors, 
and  a  world-famous  author  standing  on  less  than 
two  square  yards  of  ground! 

We  left  the  doors  and  the  windows  of  the 
church  open  while  the  noted  men  preached,  and 

[246] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

their  voices  had  to  vie  with  the  song  birds  who 
perched  on  the  waving  trees  outside  the  windows. 
The  sea  tang  blew  across  the  church,  the  sweetest 
of  summer  incense. 

I  had  little  enough  to  do,  for  the  people  were 
too  busy  with  pleasure  to  be  at  home:  they 
wanted  me  to  sit  on  the  cliffs  with  books  and 
take  a  rest  —  on  a  salary. 

But  there  came  calls  to  preach  on  some  of 
the  outlying  islands  to  which  I  was  carried 
on  different  Sunday  afternoons  in  a  launch. 

Then  they  all  left  us,  tanned,  virile,  rested: 
the  whole  community  took  itself  to  the  decks 
of  the  island  steamers  and  was  carried  to  the 
trains.  The  tennis  courts  were  closed.  The 
shutters  were  fastened  over  the  display  win- 
dows of  the  flower  stand.  Many  pews  were 
empty  in  my  little,  rustic  church.  The  flowers 
and  shrubs  were  bedded  in  straw.  Soon  the 
snow  and  frost  and  bleakness  of  winter  would 
spread  over  the  island.  My  second  pastorate 
ended,  too,  for  I  had  received  a  call  to  supply 
a  larger  church  much  nearer  to  the  Seminary, 
a  church  where  I  intended  to  preach  after  my 
graduation  from  the  Seminary. 


[247] 


Chapter  XXJ^IIL  How  a  Par- 
sonage Suggests  a  W^ife.  The 
Convincing  Revelations  of  a  Phre- 
nologist J^ho  Examined  the  Stu- 
dents* Bumps 

ON  the  return  to  the  Seminary,  to  enter 
upon  my  senior  year,  the  first  men 
I  missed  were  Burner  and  Tucker, 
who    had   graduated    the   previous 
summer.     Burner  wrote  me  a  very 
interesting  letter  from  the  precincts  of  a  promi- 
nent New  England  university  to  the  effect  that 
he  was  a  member  of  the  junior  class  of  that 
institution,  that  on  Sundays  he  preached  in  a 
very    delightful    country    town;    that    he    was 
having  a  rich  feast  in  college  fare;  the  courses 
in  animal  psychology,  metaphysics,  especially 
in  relation  to  the  fundamentals  of  faith,  holding 
the  fullest  fascination  for  him.     Tucker,  able 
at  last  to  do  a  preacher's  work,  not  only  to  his 
own  personal  taste,  but  also  to  the  gratifica- 
tion of  his  parish,  was  giving  himself,  sacrifi- 
cially,  to  the  work  of  dignifying  the  life  of  the 
people  who  had  called  him.     He  wrote  me  that 

[248] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

he  felt  his  special  work  in  life  to  have  two  phases 
to  it:  that  he  should  remain  unmarried  in  order 
that,  like  a  monk,  he  could  do  God's  work  with 
singleness  of  purpose,  and  that  he  should  go  only 
to  struggling,  discouraged  parishes  where  the 
small  salaries  and  the  hardships  formed  a  suffi- 
cient missionary  challenge:  parishes  in  which 
he  should  labor  until  they  were  transformed  and 
able  finally  to  pay  a  salary  on  which  a  permanent, 
married  man  could  settle  among  them  and  give 
them  the  fullest,  freest  service. 

"I  am  setting  myself,"  concluded  Tucker, 
"to  be  a  mortgage-lifter,  parsonage-getter,  and 
salary-raiser  for  other  ministers  who  are  to 
follow  me!" 

The  parish  to  which  I  ministered  during  my 
last  year  in  the  Seminary,  and  in  which  I  planned 
to  settle  immediately  upon  graduation,  was  in 
a  seaport  town  of  a  quaint  type:  buried  back 
in  the  rugged  coast  lines  of  the  Atlantic.  The 
Embargo  Act  had  been  like  the  chilling  breath 
of  petrification  on  the  East  Indiamen,  the  Cey- 
lon traders,  the  China  brigs,  and  the  many 
other  ships  which  had  gone  out  from  its  port. 
The  wharves  to  which  of  old  time  these  sea- 
rovers  had  been  tied  when  in  port  had  rotted 
until,  in  my  day,  the  water-front  was  outlined 
by  their  black,  damp,  soggy  ruins.  Here  and 
there,  outside  the  precincts  of  the  town,  half 
buried  among  young  saplings  and  deep  grasses, 
could  be  seen  the  piles  and  planks  of  a  once 

[249] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

stout  wharf.  In  the  village  itself,  almost  every- 
thing pointed,  with  an  index  finger,  to  the  past 
as  the  scene  of  the  town's  glory.  The  hotel 
in  which  I  stayed,  in  stage-coach  days  had  been 
a  tavern,  and  from  the  porch  of  it  the  landlord, 
wearer  of  a  blue  military  coat  with  brass  but- 
tons, had  fed  the  wild  birds  and  pigeons.  The 
house  had  an  office-boy  who  was  seventy  odd 
years  old,  a  man  whose  clothes  and  speech  were 
tinctured  with  reminiscences  of  the  sea  and  the 
past  glory  of  the  village.  As  one  tipped  back  in 
one  of  the  hundred-year-old  chairs,  which  were 
whittled,  by  loungers'  pocket  knives,  to  skele- 
tons of  rungs  and  seats,  one  saw  slow-pacing 
oxen,  nodding  their  heads  in  two-four  metro- 
nomic time,  pulling  loads  of  sun-dried,  salted 
codfish  from  the  outdoor  driers  to  the  packing 
factory.  In  the  parlors,  on  the  hillside,  were 
many  interesting  relics  of  the  past,  left  by  the 
race  of  sea  captains  and  ship-owners  almost 
extinct.  There  were  trinket  boxes  made  from 
scented,  oriental  woods,  and  little  Ceylon  gods 
of  brass  and  porcelain.  There  were  Japanese 
ivories  and  vases  and  draperies.  There  were 
ebony  ornaments  from  savage  islands  and  carved 
novelties,  the  product  of  barbarous  intelligence. 
The  old  families,  remaining  in  the  village, 
were  of  that  splendid  Puritan  sort  who  serve 
God  with  mind,  heart,  and  purse,  and  while 
the  older  men  and  women  remained  at  home, 
the  sons  and  daughters,  blessed  with  their  herit- 

[250] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

age,  had  gone  out  into  the  world  to  do  no  small 
share  of  the  brilliant  and  serviceable  tasks  for 
which  honor  and  wealth  are  given.  When  the 
bells  on  the  two  churches  rang,  on  Sunday 
mornings,  one  waited  for  the  other,  so  that  they 
might  ring  in  antiphonal  brotherhood,  seeming 
to  say,  "Good  morning,"  and  to  reply,  "Good 
morning,"  in  praise  of  the  doctrinal  harmony  in 
the  parishes  where,  in  the  by-gone  years,  oppos- 
ing pulpits  had  been  girt  about  with  demoniac 
lightnings  and  surmounted  by  the  wild-eyed 
heresies  of  dethroned  angels. 

In  addition  to  the  salary  for  my  preaching, 
a  white,  green-shuttered,  iridescent-windowed 
parsonage,  perched  on  a  summit  of  grass  ter- 
races, stood  ready,  as  my  home,  whenever  I 
should  want  it;  in  other  words,  as  members  of 
my  parish  phrased  it,  "when  I  should  bring 
Mrs.  Priddy!"  Now  a  twelve-roomed  house, 
rent  free,  perched  on  grass  terraces,  guarded 
on  one  side  by  a  syringa  and  on  the  other  side 
by  some  red  currant  bushes,  says  nothing  to  a 
young  bachelor  theologue,  about  to  graduate, 
but,  "How  about  a  wife?"  As  there  was  no 
ignoring  such  a  house,  there  was  no  ignoring 
its  consequent,  —  a  wife.  The  two,  like  a 
"neither"  and  "nor,"  went  together.  Prob- 
ably that  is  why  parishes  generally  see  to  it 
that  there  is  a  parsonage,  especially  where  young 
ministers  are  concerned:  that  such  a  concrete 
suggestion  will  work  on  the  mind  and  heart 

[251] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

of  their  minister,  through  the  night  hours  with 
all  the  terror  of  an  inescapable  dream,  in  the 
day  hours  as  a  thing  to  be  accounted  for 
whether  or  no.  There  is,  perhaps,  no  sugges- 
tion more  haunting  can  befall  a  young,  bachelor 
minister,  than  an  unoccupied,  Colonial  parson- 
age, standing  on  a  summit  of  terraces,  unoccu- 
pied! If  he  rents  it  to  outside  parties,  it  is  one 
way  of  saying  to  your  parish,  "I  am  too  cowardly 
to  marry!"  If  he  permits  it  to  remain  empty, 
he  has  to  spend  many  precious  hours  explaining 
to  the  church  committee  and  their  wives  his 
good  reasons  for  having  it  empty,  and  there 
are  so  few  good  reasons  that  the  task  is  no 
desirable  one. 

However,  Destiny,  using  a  strange  mouth- 
piece, showed  me  a  clear  path  in  the  matter.  It 
came  about  in  this  wise. 

The  lower  floor,  in  the  east  wring  of  Therenton 
Hall,  at  the  Seminary,  was  devoted  to  social 
purposes.  It  was  the  meeting-place  of  the 
students  immediately  after  supper,  where  all 
sorts  of  recreations  were  indulged.  A  song,  a 
piano  solo,  a  burlesque,  or  a  bit  of  clever  mimicry 
was  usually  in  order  in  that  place.  It  was 
ostensibly  a  reading-room,  where,  on  the  tables, 
were  to  be  found  magazines  of  interest  to  theo- 
logical students. 

It  was  in  this  room  where  our  freak  visitors 
came  to  describe  to  us  their  specialties:  men 
who  came  and  tried  to  woo  us  from  study  to 

[252J 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

strange,  emotional  cults;  men  who  came  and 
told  us,  to  our  faces,  with  prophetic  fearless- 
ness of  consequences,  that  by  our  alignment  to 
the  Seminary,  and  to  any  institution  of  learning, 
we  were  making  ourselves  heretics  and  out- 
casts. One  evening,  at  the  supper  table,  in 
Commons,  Bobbett  announced  that  "Professor 
Hoyle,  a  fellow  that  feels  bumps,  a  phrenolo- 
gist, would  be  in  the  reading-room,  ready  to 
read  our  capabilities,  our  faults,  and  our  des- 
tinies for  twenty-five  cents  a  head,  special 
price  to  theological  students  from  the  usual 
fifty -cent  rate.  No  satisfaction,  no  pay!" 

Town  lassies,  in  medieval  Europe,  never 
flocked  to  palm-reader  or  card-turner,  with 
more  curiosity  or  "pooh-poohing,"  than  did  we. 
On  the  way  through  the  yard,  the  same  criti- 
cal faculties  which  we  had  brought  to  bear  on 
"hallucinations"  and  "superstitions"  in  our 
studies  of  psychology  and  savage  religions  were 
brought  to  bear  upon  our  impending  interview 
with  "Professor  Hoyle."  Certainly  the  major- 
ity of  us,  by  the  time  we  had  entered  the  parlor, 
were  there  on  account  of  no  other  emotion  than 
the  wish  to  bring  to  bear  on  this  man's  acts 
our  trained,  critical,  scientific  acumen;  though 
it  cost  us  twenty -five  cents! 

The  "professor"  was  waiting  for  us,  a  tall, 
slightly  stooped,  well-dressed  young  man.  He 
made  no  claims,  no  speech.  He  merely  said, 

"Come  up,  one  following  another,  and  after  I 
[253] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

have  examined  you  and  made  a  note  of  my 
findings,  I  will  write  out  each  one's  report  on 
paper  and  if  it  does  not  suit,  why  none  need  pay." 
One  after  another  then  we  filed  into  the  chair 
and  had  those  pliant,  nervous,  cold  fingers  steal, 
subtly,  over  our  cranial  topographies.  Silently, 
quickly,  skilfully,  bumps  that  nature  had  placed 
on  our  skulls,  and  bumps  that  basketball  and 
parallel  bars  had  induced,  were  sorted  out, 
interpreted,  and  their  meanings  put  on  a  pad  of 
paper,  against  our  names.  Then,  after  some 
moments  of  scratching,  the  "professor"  handed 
each  one  of  us  his  report.  Laughingly  they 
were  received,  laughingly  they  were  perused, 
and  then  looks  of  startled  wonder  were  the  rule, 
for  in  some  unaccountable  way,  the  "pro- 
fessor" had  managed  to  find  strange  true  inter- 
pretations of  us.  He  informed  one  student 
that  if  the  latter  had  not  planned  to  become  a 
minister,  he  would  have  done  well  at  mechanical 
engineering,  a  vocation  in  which  the  student 
had  had  some  proficiency.  There  were  some 
intimate  revelations  for  each  one  of  us,  true  ap- 
praisals of  temperament,  inclination,  and  habit. 
But  it  was  the  unknown  things  over  which  we 
smiled,  the  mysterious  future,  which  we  were 
ready  to  believe  on  account  of  the  truthfulness 
with  which  he  had  told  our  present.  Instantly 
the  parsonage  on  the  summit  of  grass  terraces 
came  into  mind,  as  the  last  words  of  my  phren- 
ological report  read: 

[254] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"Love:  brown -haired  young  woman." 
I  paid  my  quarter,  willingly,  and  went  to  my 
room,   linking   an   unknown,   unnamed,   intan- 
gible "brown-haired  young  woman"  with  the 
waiting  parsonage. 


[255] 


Chapter  XXIX.  It  Devolves 
upon  me  to  Entertain  a  Guest 
and  the  Sentimental  Consequences 
Which  Ensued 

THEN,  as  if  in  conspiracy  with  the 
traveling  phrenologist,  the  Seminary 
itself  made  "the  brown-haired  young 
woman,"  concrete,  before  my  eyes. 
As    the    emotional    revival    had 
been   the   feature,    the   advertised   feature   of 
Evangelical  University,  so  Lecture  Week  was 
the  unique,  advertised  feature  of  the  Seminary. 
As   the   Revival   was   doctrinal,   controversial, 
and  excessively  unintellectual,  so  Lecture  Week 
was  undoctrinal,  constructive,  and  preeminently 
intellectual.     Lecture  Week  was,  par  excellence, 
one  of  the  most  inspiring  intellectual  treats  of 
a  week's  duration  to  be  found  within  the  bounds 
of  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific  oceans.     For  the 
special  lecturers  of  the  year  pooled  interests 
and  appeared  together.     These  lecturers  were 
preeminent  men  drawn  from  the  ranks  of  high- 
est achievement:  specialists  of  high,  world-wide 

[256] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

repute  on  preaching,  social  service,  and  belles 
lettres.  They  were  men  for  whose  speech  and 
thought  any  student  would  gladly  put  aside 
treatises  on  oratory  and  explanations  of  social 
movements  and  interpretations  of  literature, 
and  give  himself  entirely  into  their  safe-keeping. 
Three  words  were  inscribed  over  those  pre- 
cious, inspiring  weeks:  "Golden  Speech," 
"Ripe  Thoughts,"  and  "Impressive  Person- 
alities!" Students  were  never  the  same  in 
ambitions  after  the  lecturers  had  shuffled  their 
notes  into  their  leather  pouches  and  left:  I  had 
one  student  preach  for  me  the  Sunday  follow- 
ing one  such  week,  and  there,  before  the  eyes  of 
my  parishioners,  some  of  whom  had  been  in 
attendance  on  the  lectures,  appeared  an  excel- 
lent facsimile  of  the  noted  divine  who  had  given 
the  course  on  preaching;  the  student  stroked 
back  his  hair  exactly  as  the  noted  man  had 
done,  he  leaned  over  the  pulpit  in  perfect 
accord  with  the  latter's  peculiar  and  distin- 
guishing trait;  even  some  of  his  climaxes  and 
intonations  of  voice  followed  those  used  by  the 
famous  preacher  in  his  most  forceful  oratorical 
moments.  I  think  this  student  was  not  alone 
among  those  who  played  the  sedulous  ape  to 
the  Lecture  Week  speakers.  I  know  that 
more  than  once  I  caught  myself  thinking  that 
probably  a  change  in  method  to  that  of  Dr. 
Gladden's  conversational  ease  might  impress 
my  audience  a  la  Dr.  Gladden. 

[257} 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

During  that  week  the  Seminary  became  a 
generous  host  to  the  country  ministers,  not 
only  sending  the  poorer  ones  an  urgent  invita- 
tion to  the  feast,  but  following  very  closely  that 
gospel  which  urges  one  to  go  out  into  the  high- 
ways and  compel  them  to  come,  for  she  aided 
some  by  railway  fares,  helped  others  by  having 
the  fares  reduced,  and  when  she  had  them  into 
the  city,  gave  them  free  lodgings  in  the  dormi- 
tory and  in  the  gymnasium,  with  students  for 
chambermaids  and  professors  for  general  man- 
agers of  departments. 

The  result,  in  my  senior  year,  for  Lecture 
Week,  was  inspiring.  The  heroic  preachers 
from  the  isolated  parishes,  who  in  true  poverty 
and  in  chastity  of  heart  hold  up  God's  light 
amidst  a  darkened,  back  way,  came  to  us  in 
their  brushed-up  frayed  frock  coats  and  white 
percale  ties  to  find  themselves  somewhat  sur- 
prised at  the  city  ministers,  who  not  only  did 
not  wear  white  ties  during  the  week-days,  but 
had  even  left  their  frock  coats  at  home  to  appear 
on  the  campus  more  like  doctors  on  holidays 
than  sedate  ministers  of  the  gospel.  However, 
in  heart,  neither  frock  nor  sack  coats  made  a 
difference,  for  it  was  astounding  how  boyish  and 
playful  the  faces  of  both  city  ministers  and 
country  missionaries  became  in  the  interim  of 
lectures,  or  at  night  when  in  the  midnight 
hours  some  sedate  man  would  get  out  of  his  cot, 
skulk  past  the  snoring  brethren  who  were  arrayed 

[258] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

in  a  row  on  the  cots  in  the  gymnasium,  and 
either  by  rolling  a  thundering  bowling  ball  at 
the  pins,  or  by  some  other  act  of  deliberate 
mischief,  awaken  Babel! 

Morning,  afternoon,  and  evening  the  city 
people  united  with  the  seminary  members  in 
crowding  the  lecture  hall;  school-teachers, 
women's  clubs,  college  professors  and  college 
students,  librarians,  esthetic  clerks,  intellec- 
tually inclined  mill-workers,  doctors,  lawyers, 
and  church  people,  —  these  were  in  evidence 
always,  for  the  lecturers'  names,  and  the  three 
poles  of  their  thought  —  religion,  social  service, 
and  letters — made  a  universal  appeal.  In  fact, 
it  must  have  somewhat  embarrassed  the  speakers 
to  have  been  called  in  to  lecture  to  theological 
students  and  find  before  them  all  the  Gentiles 
of  the  city.  In  any  case,  the  speakers  who  had 
been  so  uninformed  as  to  head  each  separate 
lecture,  whether  on  "The  Pastor  in  his  Study," 
"The  Turmoil  in  Society,"  or  "The  Supremacy 
of  Browning  over  the  Saxon  Heart,"  with  the 
usual,  "My  Dear  Young  Men,"  were  compelled, 
on  appearing,  to  make  it  read,  "The  Citizens  of 
this  City,  Visiting  School-teachers  and  Pro- 
fessors, the  Faculty  and  my  Dear  Young  Friends 
of  the  Seminary!  Ahem!"  and  then  go  ahead 
and  wonder  how  the  Barbarians  would  be  inter- 
ested in  what  was  intended  for  the  Greeks! 
It  was,  in  all,  a  reincarnation  of  a  medieval 
monastery  acting  as  light-bringer,  with  this 

[259] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

difference,  that  the  Seminary's  light  was  a  Wels- 
bach  burner  and  no  smoky  fish-oil  one  that  made 
a  fog! 

The  visiting  clergymen  who  had  overrun 
the  privacy  of  the  Seminary  left,  and  the 
parishes  in  the  back  places  were  to  ring  with 
the  echoes  of  Lecture  Week,  and  from  many 
and  many  a  dried-up  well  in  the  mind  and 
heart  of  a  minister  who  had  never  had  money 
enough  for  timely  books  or  visits  to  inspiring 
conferences,  was  to  be  flowing  living,  leaping 
water  for  months  after.  One  missionary  pastor, 
however,  had  been  left  within  the  precincts  of 
the  Seminary,  a  missionary  whose  work  lay 
far  back  from  the  railroad,  amidst  the  heavy, 
drifted  snow  roads  in  winter  and  amidst  the 
serenity  of  the  isolated  hills  and  fields  in  sum- 
mer; a  missionary  preacher  who  had  been  to 
a  college,  but  not  a  theological  seminary,  and 
one  who  evidently  strongly  believed  in  equal 
suffrage  —  for  this  minister  was  a  "brown- 
haired  young  woman."  She  attended  our  classes 
in  company  with  an  elderly  woman  student 
and  was  present  when  our  homiletical  profes- 
sor, to  make  his  instruction  clear  as  to  how 
we  should  engineer  a  wedding,  took  a  long 
and  short  man,  ^  called  one  the  bride  and  the 
other  the  groom,  and  had  them  plight  their 
troth  before  us,  ex  more. 

One  evening  I  sat  at  a  supper  table  in  the 
family  hotel  to  where  I  had  transferred  my  appe- 

[260] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

tite,  when  I  was  surprised  to  see  the  busy  little 
woman  manager  guide  the  "  brown-haired  young 
woman"  over  to  my  table  and  say,  without  a 
lift  of  the  brow,  as  she  came, 

"She  is  a  minister  and  you  are  to  be  a  min- 
ister, I  think  you  ought  to  sit  at  the  same 
table!" 

She  left  the  young  woman  sitting  opposite 
me  at  the  table,  not  being  aware  that  we  were 
strangers  to  each  other.  But  there  we  were, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  the  phrenologist's  ghost 
must  have  been  wandering  near,  though  by 
that  time  I  had  put  his  report  out  of  mind 
entirely. 

Suddenly  it  was  rumored  about  the  Semi- 
nary that  I  had  in  charge  the  entertainment 
of  our  guest,  the  missionary,  and  students 
stumbled  over  us  in  the  most  unexpected 
places,  as  we  took  our  walks  over  the  city. 
Curious  persons  began  to  speak  about  the 
usefulness  of  a  wife  who  could  herself  take  to 
the  pulpit!  It  was  even  reported  about  the 
Seminary  that  some  day  she  would  be  writing 
my  sermons! 

When  the  missionary  had  returned  to  her 
parish  a  sharp  watch  was  kept  over  the  mail 
box  at  the  foot  of  Therenton  Hall  stairway,  for 
it  was  expected  that  probably  some  corre- 
spondence would  take  place  between  the  mis- 
sionary and  myself.  Some  letters  did  pass 
between  us,  though  those  from  the  missionary 

[261] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

conveyed  to  me  the  fact,  expressed  in  clear, 
unequivocal  language,  that  she  was  wedded  to 
her  mission  and  felt  that  her  whole  life  and 
sympathy  belonged  to  her  people,  despite  any 
personal  wishes  of  her  own.  The  matter  had 
reached  that  stage  when  examination  and  grad- 
uation week  drew  near,  a  time  which  brought 
suffering  with  it. 


[262] 


Chapter XXX.  A  Heretic  Hunter. 
The  Orthodoxy  of  the  Seminary 
Admirably  Defended.  I  Contract 
a  Fashionable  Disease ',  and  also 
Receive  a  Fery  Unsettling  Letter 

THE  fifty-year  old  elms  are  budding; 
the    shapely    Norway    maples   are 
bursting  into  May  leafing;  the  sun, 
after  having  melted  away  the  ice 
and  packed  snow  in  the  north  cor- 
ners, is  now    pouring  down   over  the  sloping 
field  in  front  of  the  dormitory  porch;  the  snow 
shovels  which  the  students  have  used  through 
the  snowy  winter  months  in  clearing  gridirons 
of  paths  —  a  task  which  they  have  chosen  by 
lot  —  these  tools  of  winter  have  been  packed 
away  in  remote  corners  of  the  vaulted  cellar. 
There    is  a  slack   fire   kept  in  the  stoves,  a 
sure  sign  of  a  seminary  spring.     One  or  two  bi- 
cycles are  seen  leaning  against  the  steps  of  the 

[263] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

chapel,  waiting  for  their  owners  to  come  from 
class  and  take  a  ride  over  the  hills.  Nature 
has  set  the  campus  for  loafers,  but  the  pro- 
fessors have  chosen  the  dramatic  month  of  May 
for  the  hard  grind  of  final  examinations!  Just 
about  this  time  the  students  begin  to  debate 
very  seriously  on  this  matter,  of  acute  inter- 
est—  to  them:  "Resolved:  That  Examinations 
Do  Not  Gauge  the  Mental  Fitness  of  a  Stu- 
dent," and  substantiate  their  proposition  by 
the  following  proofs: 

"That  examinations  induce  nervousness,  pro- 
hibiting the  student  from  actually  expressing 
what  is  actually  in  his  mind. 

"That  all  knowledge  cannot  be  put  on  paper, 
for  it  is  possible  for  a  man  to  profit  by  study 
and  yet  not  be  able  to  give  proof  of  it  when 
asked. 

;'That  examinations  depend  upon  memory: 
that  all  students  are  not  perfect  in  memory  - 
and    the  many  other  usual   arguments  which 
examinations,  from  the  earliest  times,  must  have 
had  against  them. 

But,  in  the  Seminary,  these  examinations  on 
paper,  while  almost  decisive,  were  supplemented 
by  oral  examinations,  made  in  public,  with  full 
liberty  given  to  any  visitors,  especially  visiting 
ministers,  to  ask  questions.  Immediately  it 
is  seen  what  a  heresy-hunting,  heretic-discover- 
ing opportunity  these  oral  examinations  gave: 
for  if  ever  a  study  has  brought  men's  thumbs 

[t6t] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

into  the  screw  and  men's  necks  into  nooses,  and 
caused  the  suspicions  of  men  to  flame  into 
white  heat,  has  it  not  been  Theology? 

For  two  years  I  had  sat  with  my  fellow 
victims  in  the  little  chapel  where  our  hymns  of 
praise  and  our  prayers  had  been  wont  to  ascend. 
Class  by  class  we  sat,  the  lower  classes  unim- 
portant in  dramatic  possibilities  because  they 
were  to  be  examined  merely  on  Hebrew  and 
Church  History,  and  surely  it  would  have  taken 
a  persecutor  with  a  keener  nose  than  Hilde- 
brand  or  a  Scotch  vestryman  to  cull  a  heresy 
on  the  Trinity  or  the  Virgin  Birth  from  a  hiphil 
or  a  hophal  or  a  padrigram  with  a  kamets- 
hhatauph  in  it!  In  fact,  after  a  minister  has 
been  away  from  the  Seminary  a  few  years,  he 
attends  these  oral  examinations  in  Hebrew, 
merely  to  nod  his  head  at  the  recital  of  every 
jot  and  the  pronunciation  of  every  drunken 
row  of  consonants,  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of 
every-day  understanding  with  him,  and  needed 
no  comment!  At  least,  it  seemed  so  to  me  as  I 
watched  during  my  first  experience  as  a  par- 
ticipant in  an  oral  examination  in  Hebrew. 
Neither  is  there  much  of  a  chance  for  heresy- 
hunting  in  Church  History,  for  is  it  not,  in 
itself,  a  record  of  heresy  after  heresy?  But 
"the  senior  class  in  Theology!"  The  mere 
announcement  of  such  an  event  is  enough  to 
lure  from  his  tombs  every  theological  ragger 
who  ever  drew  breath.  Think  of  the  chance: 

[265] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

to  be  given  carte  blanche  with  eight  young  stu- 
dents who  are  ready  to  be  quizzed  on  their 
theology  t 

The  senior  class  sit  in  their  students'  chairs 
hardly  comprehending  what  they  face.  Per- 
haps because  they  are  young  and  have  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  bel  esprit,  in  any  case,  they  sit 
ready;  each  one  ready  to  take  up  arms  in  de- 
fense of  the  orthodoxy  of  the  seminary  of  that 
present  year  against  the  orthodoxy  of  the  sem- 
inary forty,  fifty,  or  fifty -eight  years  ago;  a 
clash  which  may  have  in  it  every  element  of 
theological  tragedy.  That  there  may  be  need 
of  it  is  clear,  for  in  the  second  settee  of  visitors 
sits  a  white-haired,  stern-faced  minister,  who 
had  stopped  progress  before  Darwin  wakened 
the  world,  or  ever  First  Isaiah  was  said  to  have 
a  double,  or  before  such  startling  queries  as 
"What  Sage  Influenced  the  Psalter?"  and 
"Did  the  Code  of  Hammurabi  Help  Moses?" 
began  to  be  made.  He  antedates  those  novel- 
ties :  is  strongly  entrenched,  unwilling  to  lend  his 
ear  to  them  lest  Zion's  song  be  not  heard.  Tra- 
ditions of  this  man  have  been  handed  down  to 
the  seniors,  who  now  sit  ready  for  his  ringing 
challenge.  They  know  he  is  waiting  eagerly 
for  them,  to  follow  every  word,  every  answer 
that  has  in  it  any  deviation  from  the  straight 
doctrine  of  his  senior  year! 

The  examination  begins.  First  the  profes- 
sor asks  some  questions  that  will  indicate  the 

[266] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

range  and  character  of  his  instruction.  The  old 
man  jots  down  something  in  a  note-book,  which 
he  holds  in  his  hand,  for  he  is  experienced  in 
these  matters.  Then  the  cross-examination  en- 
sues. The  old  minister  asks,  first  of  all,  in  a 
bewildered  voice, 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,  young  gentleman, 
that  the  first  sin  was  not  done  in  the  Garden 
of  Eden,  as  exactly  recorded?  Does  the  Semi- 
nary teach  that?" 

The  student  replies,  at  length,  showing,  in 
terms  of  modern  research  and  science,  exactly 
what  he  means:  that  he  has  not  denied  the 
terrible  fact  of  sin  nor  of  its  penalties,  etc. 

But,  in  the  audience  sit  some  younger  men, 
recently  graduated,  who,  by  skilfully  injected 
questions,  deflect  examination  into  construc- 
tive and  spiritual  channels,  bringing  out  from 
the  students  the  rich  faith  that  they  have 
to  preach  and  the  helpful  doctrine  that  they 
mean  to  proclaim  to  men,  and  the  examination 
closes  with  only  one  man  imagining  that  faith 
is  on  its  last  legs  through  too  much  wisdom. 

These  parlous  times  of  test,  of  trial  were  ap- 
proaching for  me,  and  I  had  my  class  note-books 
in  order  on  my  desk,  for  a  review,  when  one  morn- 
ing I  awoke  suffering  agony  from  the  then  fashion- 
able ailment  —  appendicitis;  just  at  a  time  when 
the  papers  were  reporting  that  some  Philadel- 
phia society  women  were  compelling  doctors  to 
operate  on  them  as  a  new  fad!  The  student 

[267] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

across  the  hall  opened  his  medicine-closet  and 
made  me  a  very  stout  and  vigorous  mustard 
plaster;  but  that  did  not  avail.  Then  the  doc- 
tors were  asked  in  and  gave  out  the  news  that 
I  should  have  to  be  operated  upon  immedi- 
ately. Visions  of  graduation  melted  in  thin 
air.  While  a  carriage  was  secured,  I  dictated 
two  short  letters,  not  knowing  whether  they 
would  be  my  last.  Then  I  had  my  friend  read 
me  a  letter  which  the  missionary  had  sent.  It 
was  a  letter  to  the  effect  that  she  felt  that  our 
personal  feelings  should  be  put  aside  in  order 
that  she  might  devote  herself  to  God's  work. 
It  pleaded  that  we  should  bring  our  corre- 
spondence to  an  end,  in  order  not  to  heighten 
the  tragedy  to  which  the  matter  had  reached. 
The  words  were  like  knife  blades  driven  deep, 
and  causing  a  pain  more  acute  than  that  physical 
pain  which  had  brought  me  next  door  to  death. 
As  the  students  carried  me  downstairs  and 
put  me  in  the  carriage,  they  saw  my  face  con- 
torted and  purple  with  physical  agony. 


[268J 


Chapter  XXXI.  How  Some  of 
the  yoys  of  Friendship  Came  to 
me  in  the  Tower  Room.  The 
Orator  in  the  White  Vest.  How 
Soon  I  Lost  my  Diploma 

FROM   the   ether   cone   which   a   house 
surgeon  had  held  over  my  nostrils  I 
breathed    unconsciousness    and    peace. 
I   awoke    in    a    tower    room,    with    a 
semi-circle   of   bright  windows    letting 
in  the  morning  sun  on  me,  and  with  a  quiet- 
motioned,  white-capped  nurse  watching  me  as 
I  struggled  free  from  grim  dreams  and  tried 
to  regain  my  right  mind.     The  merest  turn  of 
the  eyes  toward  the  low  windows  permitted  me 
to  see  the  May  day  outside:  a  day  in  which 
salmon  fishers  came  in  boats  up  the  river  and 
patiently,  skilfully  lured  giant    fish  from  the 
deep  waters  to  their  bags. 

The  little,  bare  room  was  soon  colored  with 
gifts  of  flowers  from  friends  in  my  parish, 
from  my  classmates  in  the  Seminary,  and  from 

[269] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

the  missionary.  Letters  of  consolation  and  good 
cheer,  visits  from  the  president  of  the  Seminary, 
who  told  me  not  to  fret  about  examina- 
tions, because  I  should  graduate,  and  cheering 
minutes  with  my  class  friends  took  the  edge 
from  my  suffering.  One  morning  a  delegation 
of  little  children  came  bashfully  into  the  room, 
and  after  standing  in  a  row  before  me,  each 
waiting  for  the  other  to  speak,  —  for  they  rep- 
resented the  children  whom  I  had  organized  in 
the  mission  church,  two  years  before,  —  one  of 
them,  a  little  girl,  stepped  forward  and  with  a 
quick  thrust  put  on  my  white  coverlet  a  paper 
bag,  saying: 

"Mr.  Priddy,  we're  sorry  you're  sick  and  hope 
you'll  soon  be  well.  We  chipped  in  for  those 
and  hope  you'll  like  'em,  please." 

When  they  had  left  the  room,  the  nurse  opened 
the  bag  and  discovered  one  half  dozen  maxi- 
mum-ripened bananas. 

But  graduation!  Should  I  be  in  the  hospital 
while  my  classmates  enjoyed  the  festivities, 
the  sobering  joys,  the  inspiration  of  that  event? 
The  doctor,  who  with  his  trail  of  a  clinic  exam- 
ined me  each  morning,  had  been  given  a  word  by 
the  President,  for  though  a  stern  man  in  appear- 
ance and  very  blunt  in  speech,  he  would  turn,  half 
fiercely,  in  mock  ferocity  to  my  nurse  and  say, 

"This  young  man  must  be  ready  for  the  sixth 
of  June.  Remember,  he  is  not  to  be  in  this 
place  on  that  day!" 

[270] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

Though  he  never  smiled  as  he  said  this;  yet 
because  he  said  it  I  imagined  him  as  the  best 
friend  I  had  ever  called  friend,  for  the  sixth  of 
June  was  the  day  of  graduation! 

From  the  fragments  of  news  which  came  to 
me,  day  by  day,  I  knew  that  the  Seminary  was 
shaping  itself  for  the  graduation  exercises.  The 
oral  examinations  had  been  held;  the  visiting 
alumni  had  met  for  their  annual  meeting;  the 
reception,  in  one  of  the  professors'  homes,  had 
been  given;  and  on  the  morrow,  in  the  evening, 
my  classmates  would  stand  before  the  pulpit 
in  the  brick  church  while  the  President  handed 
them  their  diplomas. 

Graduation  morning  found  me  shaved,  expec- 
tant and  nervous,  sitting  at  one  of  the  windows 
watching  a  little  girl  cruelly  strip  a  tiny  sapling 
of  its  first  glorious  flowers.  Suddenly  the  nurse 
came  into  the  room,  with  a  knowing  smile,  and 
said  that  there  was  a  stranger  to  see  me! 

There  followed  the  scrape  of  a  foot  along  the 
rubber-carpeted  corridor  and  into  the  room, 
dressed  in  demure  black,  came  the  missionary! 
She  had  followed  the  leading  of  her  heart  and 
had  come  down  to  cheer  me  on  for  graduation, 
for  a  strange  dream  had  come  to  her  the  night 
I  had  been  smitten  down,  a  dream  that  came 
before  any  news  of  my  illness  had  reached  her, 
in  which  some  spirit  of  warning  had  whispered 
that  I  was  suffering,  in  danger  of  my  life !  Then 
the  mail  had  brought  her  the  truth,  and  there 

[271] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

she  stood  before  me  to  share  the  honors  of  the 
day  sympathetically  with  me. 

By  ten  o'clock  two  classmates  rattled  into 
the  hospital  yard  in  a  carriage;  came  into  my 
room,  their  arms  loaded  with  my  best  clothes. 

"You've  got  to  graduate  with  us!"  they  ex- 
claimed. "We've  been  together  through  the 
years,  and  we  can't  afford  to  have  the  line  broken 
now!" 

One  hah*  hour  later,  supported  by  them,  I 
was  placed  in  the  carriage  and  carried  trium- 
phantly to  my  room  in  the  dormitory,  where  I 
was  to  remain  quiet  and  patient  until  evening, 
when  I  should  go  down  to  the  brick  church  for 
my  diploma! 

From  the  lofty  height  of  my  dormitory 
window  I  could  look  down  on  the  house-tops 
of  the  city  and  see  the  hazy  hills  far,  far  against 
the  distant  sky-lines.  I  could  also  look  down 
between  the  veil  of  elm  leaves  and  see  the  pro- 
cessions of  visitors  and  the  hurrying  forms  of 
my  classmates,  as  they  passed  over  the  tar 
walk,  under  the  shady  arch  of  the  trees  towards 
the  gymnasium,  where  a  banquet  was  to  be 
served  in  honor  of  my  class. 

There  was  a  clatter  outside  my  door,  and  the 
classmate  who  had  been  chosen  to  deliver  the 
speech  for  us  in  the  gymnasium  appeared  in 
my  doorway  with  a  hearty, 

"How  do  I  look,  Priddy?" 

No  groom  ever  did  better  with  a  frock  coat, 
[272] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

a  white,  flowered  vest,  a  brilliant  tie,  and  neatly 
combed  hair,  and  I  told  him  so.  He  then  left 
me  for  the  momentous  occasion  in  which  he  was 
to  figure  after  dinner,  when  he  would  stand  up 
at  the  head  of  all  the  tables,  strike  his  pose,  and 
in  his  best  manner  —  with  an  incidental  throw- 
ing back  of  his  frock  coat  to  display  his  grand 
white  vest  —  give  the  felicitations,  the  thanks, 
the  hopes,  and  ideals  of  our  class. 

So  I  sat  apart  from  the  revelry  of  the  day, 
with  a  beating,  thankful  heart,  waiting  for  the 
arrival  of  evening.  After  supper  a  student  came 
into  the  room,  fitted  me  into  the  best  collar  that 
I  had,  fastened  the  groomish,  white  silk  tie 
skilfully  about  it,  put  the  golden  links  into  my 
new  cuffs,  and  then  helped  me  insert  myself 
into  my  new  frock  coat! 

"There,"  he  cried,  stroking  the  front  of  my 
coat  and  then  standing  back  for  the  effect,  "I 
think  you  are  ready  to  be  escorted  down  to  the 
church  by  the  missionary;  she  will  meet  you 
in  the  reception-room.  Good  luck  to  you, 
Priddy!" 

I  was  so  faint  that  I  walked  through  the  great 
congregation  of  visitors  and  friends  as  through 
a  blur.  I  took  my  seat  in  the  front  of  the 
church  with  my  classmates  and  saw  only  the 
array  of  palms  and  flowers  on  the  communion 
table.  I  needed  to  marshal  every  ounce  of  nerve 
and  strength  in  order  to  get  through  the  service 
without  accident.  A  terrible  fear  rushed  into 

[273] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

my  heart,  as  my  head  kept  whirling  like  a  top 
and  leaving  me  exhausted,  a  fear  that  I  should 
tumble  from  my  seat  and  spoil  the  exercises. 

One  after  another  of  my  classmates  crowded 
past  me,  ascended  to  the  pulpit,  and  delivered 
his  speech.  Next  my  name  on  the  program, 
and  the  subject  of  the  speech  on  which  I  never 
wrote,  was  a  star,  followed  by  the  note:  "Ex- 
cused on  account  of  illness." 

After  the  addresses,  the  President  came  down 
from  the  pulpit  throne  and  we  stood  lined  up 
before  him,  with  the  vast  audience  at  our  backs. 
I  could  not  listen  to  the  words  of  parting  that 
our  mentor  gave  us,  for  I  felt  every  minute  that 
I  should  tumble  back  like  a  stricken  nine- 
pin;  bowled  over  by  my  insufficient  strength. 
Sweeps  of  pain,  of  cold  and  heat  went  through 
me  like  differing  winds.  Slowly,  ever  so  slowly, 
the  diplomas  were  handed  us,  seeming  to  take 
a  day  or  more,  and  every  minute  I  felt  like 
stopping  the  solemn  service  and  asking  to  be 
allowed  to  go  back  to  my  seat. 

Finally  the  last  of  the  diplomas  were  given, 
we  turned  our  faces  to  the  congregation,  walked 
nervously  back  to  our  seats,  and  waited  for  the 
exercises  to  be  concluded. 

The  organ  thundered  its  exultant  recessional, 
the  people  crowded  into  the  aisles  and  inter- 
cepted us  as  we  struggled  through,  seeking  out 
sweethearts,  friends,  parents,  whose  congratu- 
lation we  sought  first.  The  missionary  was 

[274] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

waiting  for  me  near  an  exit  door,  anxious  for 
me,  as  I  saw  by  her  face.  I  had  just  shown  her 
my  diploma,  with  its  blue  silken  bow,  when 
suddenly  the  Dean  tapped  me  on  the  shoulder 
and  politely  requested  my  diploma,  saying, 

"You  may  have  it  again,  Mr.  Priddy, 
after  you  have  completed  your  deferred 
examinations!" 


[275] 


Chapter  XXXI L  How,  Though 
I  was  Ready  for  Service,  I  was 
Forestalled  by  a  New  Trouble, 
and  the  Very  Interesting  Plan 
Which  Came  Out  of  it 


T 


HEN  the  reward  of  the  years  came 
to  me:  I  had  my  whole  time  to 
give  to  my  parish,  I  had  my  home 
in  the  parsonage  and  a  wife  —  the 
"brown-haired  young  woman"  — 
to  preside  over  it.  Though  Evangelical  Uni- 
versity had  nurtured  narrow,  dogmatic,  and  dis- 
contented versions  of  faith  in  me,  and  though 
the  first  months  of  instruction  in  the  Seminary 
had  witnessed  the  destruction  of  these  versions 
of  faith,  finally  had  come  the  larger  world 
of  faith,  without  narrow  bounds,  with  deeper 
reaches  and  a  much  brighter  sky.  Like  Burner, 
I  had  been  called  upon  to  pass  through  skep- 
tical valleys,  and  to  climb  over  high  walls 
which  bruised  the  spirit,  but  it  was  only  to 
climb  to  the  top  of  a  lofty  faith,  at  last,  in 

[276] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

which  I  seemed  to  behold  the  world  of  men, 
spite  of  their  common  sins,  tending  towards  the 
central  place  —  God's  garden.  I  felt  that  I 
could  go  into  the  pulpit  and  preach  on  themes, 
which  instead  of  arousing  the  hostility  of  men, 
as  the  doctrine  of  Evangelical  University  seemed 
destined  to  do,  would  by  their  breadth,  opti- 
mism, and  freedom  from  Phariseeism  win  the 
repentant  consent  of  men.  I  had  gone  into  the 
Seminary  tutored  by  Evangelical  University  to 
be  afraid  to  let  the  sun  shine  on  religion's  chief 
doctrines,  I  had  come  from  the  Seminary  believ- 
ing that  the  flood  of  light  intensified  the  beauty 
of  religion.  So,  at  last,  I  had  the  opportunity 
of  testing  on  community  life  this  doctrine  which 
comforted  me  with  an  inexpressible  comfort.  I 
bent  to  my  work,  with  my  wife  at  my  elbow,  as 
proud  of  my  chance  as  any  king  called  suddenly 
from  obscurity  to  a  kingdom. 

I  occupied  a  study  whose  front  window  over- 
looked the  trees  and  gave  me  an  excellent  view 
of  the  sailing  ships  and  steamers  which  dotted 
the  bay.  I  had  my  typewriter  in  one  corner, 
my  desk  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  and  an 
abundant  supply  of  manuscript  paper  on  which 
I  intended  writing  years  and  years  of  sermons 
for  that  parish. 

One  day,  in  spring,  my  wife  insisted  that  I  con- 
sult a  specialist  about  a  throat  affliction  which 
had  been  interfering  with  my  parish  duties.  I 
sought  one  out  and  had  him  make  a  thorough  ex- 

[277] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

amination  of  me.     Gravely  he  plied  his  tools  and 
searched  my  throat,  and  gravely  he  announced, 

"You  will  have  to  bring  your  pastoral  work 
to  an  end,  sir.  Your  throat  will  have  to  be 
cared  for.  You  must  go,  immediately,  to  a 
dry  climate,  among  the  high  hills,  and  use  your 
throat  for  a  year  or  two  with  great  economy. 
That  is  all.  There  is  no  better  remedy." 

I  gazed  on  him  with  startled  eyes. 

"But  I've  just  got  settled  down,"  I  insisted. 
"I  have  no  money  saved.  I  have  just  married. 
Is  there  no  other  remedy?" 

"None,"  he  replied,  "I  am  sorry  to  say. 
You  will  have  to  do  as  I  prescribe  or  lose  your 
voice  altogether.  It  is  very  serious." 

Late  that  afternoon  I  appeared  before  my 
wife.  She  had  been  planting  some  old-fashioned 
flowers  in  the  garden.  She  saw  by  my  down- 
cast countenance  that  I  had  bad  news. 

"What  has  he  told  you?"  she  enquired. 
"Don't  quibble  with  me,  please!" 

"We'll  have  to  say  good-bye  to  this  place," 
I  began,  miserably.  "It's  all  at  an  end:  this 
fine  dream!" 

"Have  to  leave?"  she  echoed,  faintly.  "Is 
that  it?" 

Then  I  reported  to  her  what  the  specialist 
had  told  me. 

"And  we've  planted  the  garden ! "  I  concluded. 
"We  shan't  be  able  to  stay  here  long  enough  to 
reap  it!" 

[2781 


There  followed  some  moments  of  silence, 
during  which  the  full  shock  of  the  news  had  time 
to  hurt  her,  and  then  she  proved  herself  to  be 
one  in  that  sisterhood  of  wives  who  in  proposing 
a  comfortable  escape  from  a  domestic  difficulty 
bravely  commit  themselves  to  hardships:  for 
she  said,  with  a  smile, 

"There,  now,  this  will  give  you  a  chance  to 
get  to  college!" 

I  looked  at  her  with  great  astonishment. 

"But  we  cannot  afford  to  go  to  college,"  I 
protested. 

"Oh,  can't  we?*'  she  smiled.  "Well,  I  sup- 
pose it  may  be  possible  for  you  to  get  a  little 
church  to  supply  near  a  college,  and  I  will 
stay  at  home  through  the  week,  keeping  an  eye 
on  the  parish  work  while  you  study  for  your 
degree." 

"I  had  never  thought  of  that!" 

"You  will  have  to  be  idle  if  you  go  to  a  parish, 
you  might  as  well  use  your  time  in  getting  a 
college  degree,"  she  insisted. 

In  two  weeks'  time  I  had  written  to  the  Dean 
of  an  old  New  England  college,  of  great  reputa- 
tion, and,  on  the  strength  of  my  seminary  study, 
was  informed  that  I  should  be  eligible  to  enter 
the  junior  class  at  the  college  the  following 
fall.  With  that  matter  settled,  I  soon  learned 
that  I  might  supply  a  country  church,  some 
miles  from  the  college,  and  let  my  wife  occupy 
the  parsonage.  The  financial  end  of  college 

[279] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

thus  concluded,  I  resigned  from  the  church: 
the  church  in  which  all  the  sentimental  ties  of 
student  days,  ordination,  and  marriage  were 
merged. 

An  old  seaman  came  and  boxed  my  household 
goods,  and  as  he  worked,  tried  to  blunt  the  sting 
of  the  task  by  reciting  to  me  in  great  detail, 
how  Moses,  after  becoming  the  wisest  man 
among  the  Egyptians,  likewise  became  the 
greatest  war  general  of  his  time. 

"How  is  that?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  you  see,"  said  the  seaman,  "the 
'Gyptians  was  allus  goin'  over  the  sands  of  the 
desert  to  battle,  and  the  sands  of  the  desert  was 
filled  with  biting  snakes,  and  the  men  died  by 
whole  companies  from  the  glare  of  the  sun,  so 
Moses,  he  invented  some  red  umbrellas  and 
give  one  to  every  soldier  and  took  'em  onto 
the  blazing,  snake-ridden  floor  of  the  desert. 
Result  was,  when  the  snakes  seen  the  glaring 
umbrellas  they  was  scart  off,  and  the  men  was 
covered  from  the  hot  blaze  of  the  sun,  and  went 
into  other  lands  and  won  big  victories  under 
that  same  Moses!" 

"Where  did  you  learn  that?"  I  asked,  in 
great  curiosity. 

He  mumbled  the  name  of  some  strange- 
sounding  history,  and  then  returned  to  his  work, 
for  which  I  was  paying  him  twenty  cents  an 
hour.  That  legend  had  cost  me  fifteen  cents; 
it  had  taken  him  a  full  three  quarters  of  an 

[280] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

hour  to  recount  it  with  its  frills  and  the  many 
interjections. 

Then  my  wife  and  I,  feeling  like  the  first  man 
and  woman  leaving  Eden,  bade  a  tearful  good- 
bye to  the  house,  to  the  parish,  and  went  forth 
to  a  new  educational  adventure,  one  that  would 
have  its  own  peculiar  hardships,  pain,  and 
pleasures. 


[281] 


Chapter  XXXIII.  Of  a  til- 
lage where  Locomotive  Whistles 
Sounded  like  Lingering  Music :  of 
the  Esthetic  Possibilities  in  a  Col- 
lege Catalogue:  of  a  Journey  over 
the  Hills  to  the  College  where  we 
find,  besides  a  Wonderful  Array 
of  Structures  j  a  Large  Room  and 
the  Junior  with  his  Barnful  of 
Furniture 


T 


"^O  a  bird  the  north  New  England 
hill  country  whither  our  adventure 
took  us  might  have  resembled  in 
shape  a  crumpled  pie  crust.  In 
one  of  the  depressions  lay  our  new 
parish:  the  horizons  high  and  lifted  up  by 
reason  of  the  hills  which  girt  it  closely  about. 
All  the  exits  from  the  village  were  over  roads 

[282] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

that  sloped  upward.  Only  the  river  had  an 
even  course  as  its  shallow  body  bruised  itself 
in  rushing  over  the  sharp,  white  rocks  which 
tried  to  hold  it  back. 

The  village  was  composed  of  groups  of  neatly 
painted  cottages  branching  from  an  elm-shaded 
green  around  which  stood  the  town  buildings: 
the  drab-painted  pillared  church,  the  post- 
office  and  general  store,  the  glaring  red  brick 
townhouse,  the  mill-like  school  building,  the 
parsonage,  the  doctor's  residence,  the  post- 
master's house,  and  the  farm  of  the  first  select- 
man. 

The  two  fine  contributions  to  the  national 
reputation  that  a  majority  of  our  parishioners 
were  sending  into  the  markets,  were  golden 
bars  of  butter  and  finely-fed  beef.  Very 
quietly  the  people  were  giving  themselves  to 
these  tasks,  having  but  little  touch  with  the 
great  world  outside. 

It  was  difficult  for  me,  in  the  midst  of  such 
rustic  peace  and  isolated  civilization,  to  realize 
that  twelve  miles  back  of  the  hills  lay  a  famous 
college  whose  traditions  had  gone  out  into 
every  part  of  the  country  during  the  century 
and  a  half  of  its  existence.  Its  name  had  been 
reverently  spoken  in  so  far  away  a  place  as 
Evangelical  University.  The  history  of  the 
United  States  can  not  be  written  without  men- 
tion and  eulogy  of  some  of  its  noted  graduates. 
During  those  July  days,  while  we  were  estab- 

[283] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

lishing  our  household  goods  in  the  parsonage, 
I  caught  myself  sniffing  the  east  wind,  as  if 
eager  to  slake  my  curiosity  by  catching  the 
flavor  of  the  college.  My  enthusiasm  was  un- 
bounded over  the  possibility  of  at  last  attaining 
unto  a  college  education:  the  trade-mark  of 
American  culture.  My  wife  and  I  had  prom- 
ised ourselves  to  drive  over  the  hills  as  soon 
as  the  house  had  been  established,  so  that 
together  we  might  have  our  first  view  of  the 
institution  and  that  I  might  confer  with  the 
dean  and  arrange  my  schedule  of  studies  for 
the  first  term.  I  waited  impatiently  for  that 
day  to  come. 

Meanwhile,  during  the  lulls  in  house  settling, 
I  took  the  college  catalogue  and  selected  a 
course  of  studies.  It  was  an  enticing  feast 
before  which  I  sat:  I  felt  like  a  lad  having  to 
choose  from  fifteen  nectar  flavors  of  ice  cream, 
only  the  courses  of  study  from  which  I  had 
the  privilege  of  choosing  went  into  the  hun- 
dreds. Almost  every  theme  of  my  desire  was 
spread  before  me;  explorations  into  literature, 
social  life,  fine  arts,  science,  language,  and 
economics.  Old  yearnings  could  be  abundantly 
gratified  at  last:  a  formidable  list  of  professors 
and  a  more  formidable  list  of  studies  awaited 
my  option.  Evangelical  University  had  given 
me  the  foundations  of  an  education,  the  Semi- 
nary had  given  me  the  technical  knowledge  of 
my  profession,  at  last  I  had  come  to  the  studies 

[284] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

that  should  broaden  my  outlook,  extend  my 
habits  of  thought  beyond  the  narrow  groove 
of  my  vocation,  and  link  me  to  the  great  world- 
thought.  I  put  down  Italian  so  that  at  last 
I  might,  with  my  own  ears,  hear  Dante  speak 
to  me  through  his  euphonious  and  inspired 
Cantos,  and  I  chose  a  course  in  which  Goethe 
should  at  last  be  met  face  to  face.  I  also  deter- 
mined to  test  my  theology  in  a  science  course 
to  find  out  for  myself  if  God  and  the  forces  of 
Nature  were  actually  engaged  in  undying  war- 
fare. I  chose,  also,  a  course  in  composition, 
which  had  in  it  all  the  lure  towards  authorship 
and  the  fascination  of  literary  creation.  My 
technical  studies  in  the  Seminary  had  prepared 
me  to  secure  from  the  college  the  highest  in- 
spiration I  should  ever  receive  from  books. 

Early  in  the  month  of  August,  my  wife  and  I 
started  from  the  village  in  a  buggy  for  a  drive 
over  the  hill  roads  to  the  college.  My  wife 
reminded  me,  during  the  drive,  of  the  strange- 
ness of  the  situation:  of  the  fact  that  five  years 
previously  she  had  received  her  degree  from 
her  alma  mater  and  that  she  was  now  on  the  way 
to  witness  the  matriculation  of  her  husband. 
Midway  on  the  route  we  drove  through  an 
abandoned  village,  past  a  once  commodious 
church,  a  mill,  and  several  houses,  all  storm 
bent  and  in  forsaken  ruin.  We  rode  along 
sand-rutted  highways  which  seemed  to  take 
us  farther  and  farther  away  from  living  crea- 

[285] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

tures.  We  passed  acres  and  acres  of  stumps 
showing  where  the  axes  and  saws  of  woodsmen 
had  left  a  permanent  scar  in  the  forestry  of  the 
back-roads.  Then  we  emerged  on  the  first 
street  of  a  quaint,  slumberous  town  whose  green 
and  drab-shuttered  white  houses  hid  demurely 
behind  screens  of  elm  and  of  maple.  On  the 
outskirts  of  this  village  we  found  ourselves  on  a 
sandy  plain  which  sloped  down  towards  a  wide 
river.  On  the  opposite  bank,  set  like  gleaming 
red  and  white  flowers  in  a  bed  of  green,  were 
towers,  windows,  houses,  chimneys:  acres  of 
them,  a  mile  distant,  scattered  over  a  narrow 
elevated  plain  behind  which  rolled  hills  far 
to  the  North,  to  the  East  and  to  the  South, 
their  sky-lines  lost  in  clouds. 

"It's  the  college!"  I  exclaimed,  dropping  the 
reins  for  further,  excited  contemplation.  The 
patches  of  red  and  the  hundreds  of  gleaming, 
sun-blazing  windows,  were  dormitories  and  aca- 
demic halls.  The  white  blotches  were  innumer- 
able houses  surrounding  the  college  buildings. 
One  had  to  pick  them  out  from  the  lavish 
clusters  of  shade  trees  whose  leaves  left  cool, 
dark  shadows  on  the  buildings. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  our  horse  had  dragged 
us  toilsomely  up  a  steep  roadway  on  either  side 
of  which  were  a  few  scattered  houses,  the  out- 
posts of  the  college  town,  and  brought  us  right 
into  the  midst  of  the  college  campus  itself,  a 
very  green  oasis  surrounded  by  a  hollow  square 

[286] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

of  college  structures.  Yes,  the  Fence  was  there, 
a  double  line  of  it  with  the  grass  worn  off  where 
Seniors'  sacred  feet  had  rubbed!  just  as  in  my 
boyish  speculations  I  had  always  conceived  a 
college  with  its  Fence.  Very  near  the  green, 
too,  lay  a  solid  stone  sarcophagus  of  a  drinking 
fountain:  just  the  sort  which,  in  my  boyish 
speculations  and  boyish  reading,  I  had  seen  used 
for  the  baths  of  recalcitrant  Freshmen  and  too 
obtrusive  Sophomores.  Over  on  the  north 
side  a  snow-white  meeting-house  fronted  us  with 
a  stiff,  proud  chest,  and  with  its  hexagonal 
bell-tower  rising  above  the  roof  like  the  smoke- 
stack of  a  railway  engine,  made  one  expect  to  see 
it  start  puffing  forward  over  the  campus,  with 
a  very  tiny,  Greek-pillared  vestry  accompany- 
ing it,  like  a  colt  engine,  destined,  sometime 
later,  perhaps,  to  grow  into  a  meeting-house, 
like  its  companion.  Across  the  street  from 
where  we  had  entered  stood  a  brick  tavern, 
under  whose  canopy  an  old  coach  waited 
equipped  with  glass  doors,  outside  seats,  and 
with  thick  leather  straps  to  keep  the  pliant 
springs  from  sending  the  body  of  the  coach 
leaping  off  the  wheels  at  the  "thank-you- 
ma'ams."  To  the  left  we  discovered  a  huge 
square  brick  structure  with  a  fenced-in  roof 
faced  by  a  spacious  walled-in  porch,  with  pillar- 
supported  roof  which,  we  learned,  was  the 
combined  college  club  and  commons. 

Screened  by  the  arching  trees  and  massed  in 
[287] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

companies  of  twos  and  threes,  fives  and  sixes, 
were  recitation  halls,  a  Renaissance  museum, 
a  stone  chapel,  a  power  house,  numerous  dor- 
mitories, a  snow-white  observatory,  a  gymna- 
sium, and  last,  a  stone  tower  crowning  a  knoll 
and  dominating  the  campus. 

The  dean  gave  me  my  papers,  approved  my 
courses  of  studies,  and  then  sent  my  wife  and 
me  on  an  inspection  of  available  dormitory 
rooms,  for  I  should  have  to  reside  at  the  college 
six  days  out  of  seven. 

After  the  penury  of  Evangelical  University 
and  the  quaint  compactness  of  the  Seminary, 
the  broad  acres,  costly,  comfortable  buildings 
and  lavish  size  of  the  college  gripped  my 
imagination.  We  threaded  our  way  past  a  set 
of  dormitories,  through  a  wooded  road,  and 
entered  a  rustic  park  where  Commencement 
festivities  were  held  every  June.  We  passed 
sedate  rows  of  professorial  residences  fronted 
by  hedges  and  smooth-clipped  lawns.  Over  to 
the  south  we  viewed  a  fenced-in  athletic  field; 
a  mass  of  green  with  ovals  and  straightaways 
of  black  cinders,  and  with  bleachers  and  a 
grandstand  at  one  end:  the  place  where,  fully 
as  much  as  in  the  college  buildings,  the  culture 
of  youth  went  on:  the  culture  of  health,  of 
muscular  skill,  and  of  moral  temper. 

A  janitor  —  a  young  man  with  a  broad  fore- 
head and  gentle  ways  —  extracted  a  bunch  of 
keys  and  showed  us  into  a  very  old  dormitory 

[288] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

where  were  single  rooms,  double  rooms,  quad- 
ruple and  sextuple  rooms;  according  to  taste, 
but  no  room  which  met  with  my  approval, 
especially  when  the  dormitory  bore  such  a 
sinister  name  as  Demon  Cottage,  a  corruption 
of  Damon  Cottage.  The  janitor,  who  turned 
out  to  be,  himself,  a  graduate  of  the  college,  on 
learning  that  I  was  an  aspirant  for  the  ministry, 
promptly  advised  me  to  examine  a  room  in  the 
Christian  Association  building.  This  we  did, 
and  when  he  had  guided  my  wife  and  me  up 
three  flights  of  stairs  and  thrown  open  the  door 
of  a  massive,  square  room,  with  shop  windows 
for  light,  I  said, 

"Isn't  this  the  college  Socialistic  Hall,  or  the 
band  practise  chamber?" 

"No,  this  is  merely  a  double,  dormitory 
room,"  he  admitted.  "Sixty  dollars  a  year 
for  each  occupant  with  an  extra  bedroom  over 
there  and  an  enormous  storeroom  through  that 
door." 

"Well,"  I  concluded,  after  some  discussion, 
"a  flat-full  of  furniture  would  hardly  furnish 
the  center  of  the  room,  but  there's  sure  to  be  a 
good  circulation  of  air,  and  that  is  important. 
I  think  I'd  better  take  it." 

When  we  returned  to  the  campus  we  dis- 
covered a  group  of  canvas-clad  students  punt- 
ing a  football  while  a  group  of  Freshmen,  with 
eyes  bulging  out  of  their  heads,  looked  on  in 
worshipful  wonder,  for  Ellis,  Barton,  and  Chip- 

[289] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

man,  three  of  the  Varsity  team,  were  in  the 
advance  guard  of  athletes  engaged  in  early 
practise. 

The  janitor  had  sent  us  to  "Durritt's  Barn" 
where,  he  informed  us,  we  should  be  able  to 
pick  up  a  team  load  of  dormitory  furniture  at 
second  hand  for  very  little  money.  "Durritt's 
Barn"  was  actually  a  barn  attached  to  a  pleasant 
little  house  which  had  been  transformed,  by  a 
very  energetic  Junior,  into  a  second-hand  furni- 
ture store.  The  Junior,  whose  name  I  learned 
was  Garden,  presented  himself  from  behind  a 
bewildering  mass  of  dusty  rugs,  topsy-turvy 
mission  chairs,  and  sectional  book  shelves,  and 
picked  his  way  to  us  through  a  narrow  aisle 
made  by  massed  heaps  of  bedsteads,  mat- 
tresses, chiffoniers,  tables,  and  desks.  When 
we  expressed  amazement  at  his  business  au- 
dacity in  having  such  a  mass  of  second-hand 
furnishings  on  his  hands,  he  informed  us  that 
we  had  not  seen  it  all  and  then  he  led  us  up  a 
stairway  to  the  loft  where  we  discovered  another 
heaped  up  mass  of  material. 

"I  shall  have  it  all  sold  by  the  time  college 
has  opened,"  said  the  Junior.  "In  fact,  I  shall 
not  have  enough  for  the  demand." 

"Where  do  you  get  the  furniture?"  demanded 
my  wife. 

"From  the  Seniors,"  replied  Garden.  "They 
sell  it  for  next  to  nothing  during  Commence- 
ment. It  is  a  profitable  business  —  while  it 

[290] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

lasts.  It  gives  me  an  excellent  chance  for  earn- 
ing my  way  through  the  college.  Now,  how 
would  that  iron  bedstead  suit  you,  for  your 
room,  Mr.  Priddy,  and  that  felt  mattress, 
which  goes  with  it:  three  dollars  for  the  whole?" 

After  informing  him  that  he  did  not  have  in 
his  stock  a  rug  expansive  enough  to  cover  the 
floor  of  my  spacious  apartment  in  Association 
Hall,  we  compromised  on  a  very  limp,  red 
carpet  rug  which  would  resemble  a  bandanna 
handkerchief  when  spread  out  on  my  room 
floor,  but  which  was  actually  the  broadest  floor 
covering  I  could  purchase.  A  half -hour  later 
I  paid  twelve  dollars  and  a  quarter  for  the  bed, 
the  rug,  a  chair,  a  small  book  shelf,  and  a  tied- 
together  chiffonier  with  most  of  its  brass  handles 
missing. 

After  having  left  the  moving  of  the  furniture 
in  the  hands  of  Garden,  my  wife  and  I  were 
once  more  driving  over  those  lonesome,  sandy, 
rutted  roads,  in  the  midst  of  the  profound 
silences  of  remote  civilization.  Again  we  passed 
through  the  deserted  village.  Two  hours  later 
we  were  back  in  the  parsonage  ready,  next,  to 
pack  my  trunk  preparatory  to  the  opening  of 
college. 


[291] 


Chapter  XXXI F.      My    Wife 

Packs  me  off  to  College.  "The 
Senior  and  I  Stop  at  a  Rock 
for  a  Drink,  Meet  the  Advance 
Guard  of  Students,  Plunge  into  a 
Bedlam,  and  Witness  the  Labors 
of  the  Freshmen.  The  Finger-study 
of  Quarles  and  my  Apology  Given 
to  the  Retired  Medical  Man  who 
was  Specializing  in  Hens 

"ERE  I  am,  in  our  honeymoon  year, 
packing  you  off  to  college,"  com- 
mented my  wife,  as  she  folded 
some  towels  and  handed  them  to 
me  to  put  in  my  trunk.  "It  takes 
me  back  to  the  day  when  my  mother  did  it  for 
me." 

"And  you're  to  have  the  hard  end  of  the 
[292] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

business,"  I  replied,  "staying  in  this  house 
alone  and  keeping  an  eye  on  the  parish.  Not 
much  of  a  honeymoon  to  that  through  the  long, 
winter  days,  while  I  am  in  the  swirl  of  college 
events,  with  all  the  fellowship  one  can  desire." 

"But  there'll  be  holidays  and  Saturdays  at 
home,  for  you,"  she  answered.  "I  shall  see 
you  once  a  week  at  least,  for  you  will  have 
to  preach  here  every  Sunday.  We're  working 
together,  now,"  she  added,  quietly.  "If  there's 
any  suffering,  any  hardship,  any  self-denial  in- 
volved, I  am  willing  to  undergo  it,  else  I  would 
not  have  married  you!" 

In  her  voice  ran  an  undertone  of  tragic  feel- 
ing and  for  the  first  time  I  began  dimly  to 
realize,  in  the  midst  of  my  own  opportunity 
for  a  college  education,  that  in  this  little  home, 
back  over  the  hills,  my  wife  would  be  waiting, 
and  waiting,  through  the  long  hours  of  the 
day  and  night,  for  the  two  years'  study  to  be 
at  an  end:  the  study  which  would  break  up  our 
home  and  separate  us  during  the  first  days  of 
our  married  life.  I  vowed  then  to  give  it  all  up : 
to  plunge  into  the  pastoral  work:  to  send  word 
to  the  college  dean  that  he  must  not  expect  me. 

"No,  not  that:  not  that!"  protested  my  wife. 
"It  is  your  chance,  take  it!" 

As  I  descended  from  my  pulpit  the  following 
Sunday  morning,  I  was  introduced  to  a  quiet 
youth  who  was  recommended  to  me  as  a  Senior 
in  the  college.  That  afternoon  my  new 

[293] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

acquaintance  came  down  to  the  parsonage  and 
willingly  permitted  me,  in  my  curiosity,  to 
question  him  concerning  the  traditions,  the 
customs,  and  the  personnel  of  the  college.  I 
asked  him  some  very  trivial  and  laughable 
questions,  I  remember,  because,  at  the  time, 
I  had  some  very  curious  and  perhaps  too 
exalted  notions  concerning  colleges,  especially 
colleges  of  the  high  standard  of  the  one  in 
which  I  had  just  matriculated  and  to  which  I 
was  to  journey  on  the  morrow. 

After  our  conversation,  the  Senior  promised 
to  call  for  me  next  day  and  escort  me  to  the 
college:  a  proffer  which  I  was  glad  to  accept. 

That  September  Monday  morning  was  a  very 
pleasant  one  in  the  Northern  country.  The 
maple  groves  on  the  hill  slopes  made  one  think 
that  God  had  let  fall  his  color  pots,  for  the 
leaves  of  the  trees  flamed  with  reds,  with 
yellows,  and  with  blacks.  The  mail  wagon 
drove  up  to  the  parsonage  door  and  collected 
myself,  the  Senior,  and  my  trunk.  My  wife 
stood  at  the  door  telling  me  not  to  forget  this 
and  that,  with  true  motherly  solicitude.  Then, 
with  a  dash  through  the  dust,  the  wagon  wheeled 
us  on  our  way  across  the  river  to  the  train 
that  should  carry  us  to  within  four  miles  of 
college. 

The  Senior  said,  as  we  changed  at  a  junction, 

"The  train  that  will  get  us  to  college  does 
not  go  for  some  hours.  Are  you  fit  for  a  four 

[294] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

mile  walk?     We  can  eat  lunch  on  the  way.     I 
have  some  in  my  suit  case. " 

I  agreed  that  I  was  ready  for  the  walk,  so  we 
left  the  town  precincts  by  walking  through  a 
lumber  yard.  • 

Our  travel  took  us  over  a  cinder  path  between 
the  ties  and  switch  rods  of  a  railroad.  At  the 
right,  far  below  us,  flowed  a  very  wide  and  swift 
river,  whose  surface  twinkled  through  the  shields 
of  pine  and  white  birch  which  lined  the  bluff. 
Here  we  met  several  young  men  walking  slowly 
and  engaged  in  earnest  conversation. 

"Those  are  students!"  the  Senior  whispered, 
"out  for  a  walk." 

When  some  mill  whistles  at  a  remote  distance 
announced  the  noon  hour,  the  Senior  conducted 
me  to  a  grove  of  stiff,  tall  pines  where  on  the 
brown,  fragrant  needles  he  spread  a  lunch  of 
sandwiches,  jelly,  and  pears. 

Then  we  took  up  the  walk  again,  passing  on 
into  the  wilderness  of  trees  and  rushing  river. 
At  a  turn  in  the  track  we  came  to  a  high  cliff 
whose  outer  surface  was  stained  with  moss  and 
glistened  with  dampness.  The  Senior  stopped 
before  a  niche  out  of  whose  cool  interior  spouted 
a  stream  of  ice-cold  water,  bringing  to  mind 
the  rock  which  Moses  struck  with  his  wand  and 
which  slaked  the  thirst  of  the  children  of  Israel. 

"Nearly  every  student  who  passes  this  way," 
the  Senior  announced,  "gets  a  drink  of  this 
water." 

[2951 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

Ten  minutes  later  we  walked  into  the  station 
and  I  was  amazed  at  the  heaps  of  trunks  that 
covered  the  platform.  Drays  were  doing  their 
best  to  reduce  the  pile  by  carting  them  away 
in  enormous  loads.  As  we  made  our  way 
around  the  trunks  there  dashed  into  the  station 
one  of  the  coaches  I  had  seen  near  the  tavern 
on  my  previous  visit;  this  time  topped  by  a 
group  of  healthy-faced,  shouting  students,  wear- 
ing tan  shoes,  flannel  trousers,  and  flapping  caps 
such  as  clowns,  in  the  circus  rings,  wear  with 
such  comical  effect.  This  coach  was  quickly  fol- 
lowed by  another,  similarly  loaded  with  students 
come  down  to  greet  the  arrival  of  classmates 
and  friends. 

At  last  I  was  able  to  realize  the  task  that  was 
on  my  hands  if  I  were  to  fit  into  the  college  life, 
for  scores  of  students  passed  us  or  trailed  after 
us  as  the  Senior  and  I  walked  up  the  hill.  How 
should  I  ever  succeed  in  remembering  their 
names,  in  entering  into  the  acquaintance  of  a 
small  number  of  all  those  students?  And  the 
trains  were  bringing  more! 

On  top  of  the  hill,  just  before  entering  the 
campus,  some  fraternity  houses,  lavishly  ap- 
pointed, had  their  verandahs  filled  with  students, 
singing  snatches  of  songs  and  bantering  one 
another.  Then  there  flashed  into  view  again, 
the  campus  and  the  business  street,  only  on 
this  occasion  it  was  a  far  different  campus  and 
a  very  different  business  street  from  what  I 

[296] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

had  seen  on  my  previous  visit.  The  side- 
walks were  thronged  with  students,  some  lean- 
ing against  shop  windows,  others  sitting  on 
steps,  while  others  roamed  along  engaged  in 
conversation.  On  the  campus,  keeping  to  the 
paths,  were  groups  of  Freshmen  walking  timidly 
enough  past  Sophomores  in  sweaters  and  neg- 
ligee attire  and  past  Seniors  in  graver  dress  and 
mien.  On  the  front  lawn  of  a  dormitory  four 
neatly-dressed  youths  were  beating  rugs  and 
as  their  energetic  actions  continued  they  were 
half  smothered  in  the  clouds  of  dust. 

"I  should  imagine  that  they  would  don 
rougher  clothes  while  they  dust  rugs,"  I  com- 
mented to  the  Senior. 

My  companion  smiled,  knowingly, 

"They  have  no  chance  to  change  clothes," 
he  replied.  "They  are  Freshmen  which  some 
of  the  upper-classmen  have  picked  up  from  the 
campus  and  compelled  to  do  that  work.  It  will 
be  the  Freshmen's  turn,  next  year,  however,  so 
that  it  isn't  much  of  an  imposition.  Now  you'll 
see  some  fun.  Watch  that  football  man  with 
the  sweater!" 

The  football  man  in  the  sweater  had  come 
out  of  the  dormitory  and  had  gone  over  to  the 
Freshman  who  was  working  more  energetically 
than  his  fellows,  and  said  to  him, 

"Say,  Freshie,  what're  you  sleeping  on  the 
job  like  that  for,  eh?  Do  you  want  the  Sophs, 
to  give  you  a  black  mark  so  soon?" 

[2971 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

He  glared  with  mock  savagery  at  the  be- 
wildered Freshman,  who  replied, 

"Please  sir,  I  am  working  very  hard,  sir!" 

"If  you  call  that  work,  then,"  stormed  the 
football  man,  "I  wonder  what  you  do  when  you 
loaf?  Die  probably,  eh?" 

"I  thought,  sir-  '  persisted  the  Freshman, 
but  he  was  cut  short  by  the  football  man  who 
said, 

"Just  carry  that  up  to  my  room,  put  it 
straight,  set  the  furniture  in  place,  and  then  go 
to  work  and  copy  those  marked  extracts  from 
the  coach's  note  book  which  you'll  find  on  the 
desk.  Hurry  and  have  it  done  in  two  hours' 
time!" 

As  the  football  man  ended  those  savage 
orders,  he  turned  away  with  an  amused  smile 
and  as  he  came  towards  us  he  winked  and  said 
to  the  Senior, 

"That  young  cuss's  got  the  making  of  a  fine 
kid  in  him,  even  if  he  is  the  son  of  a  several 
hundred  thousand  dollar  Senator.  Just  watch 
him  make  the  dust  fly!  Ain't  he  a  peacherino, 
though!" 

The  Senior  informed  me,  after  the  football 
man  had  strolled  away,  that  the  fagging  was  in 
full  force  just  then  and  that  the  Freshmen  took 
it  in  good  humor,  and,  in  fact,  would  have  con- 
sidered themselves  not  actually  at  college  had 
that  feature  been  omitted. 

The  different  noises  that  filled  the  air  made  a 
[298] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

Babel.  From  dormitory  windows  came  shouts, 
cornet  practise,  and  various  meanings  which, 
at  a  quieter  time,  would  have  been  differentiated 
as  vocal  trios  and  duets.  Down  the  business 
street,  from  the  upper  floors  where  some  of  the 
fraternities  had  rooms,  the  sounds  of  clanging 
piano  rag-time  tried  to  merge  with  explosive 
bellowings  of  happy,  singing  fraternity  men. 
On  the  College  Club  porch  a  jostling  crowd  of 
students  could  be  seen,  shaking  hands,  telling 
summer  experiences,  and  knocking  chairs  about 
in  the  anxiety  to  get  at  one  another.  The  shop 
windows  were  gay  with  college  banners,  souve- 
nirs, books,  picture  cards,  college  photographs, 
and  sporting  goods. 

I  found  the  furniture  I  had  purchased  from 
Garden  heaped  before  my  door  and  a  half -hour 
later  I  had  it  scattered  lonesomely  over  the  floor 
of  my  large  room.  From  my  open  window  I 
could  look  down  on  the  stir  of  life  on  the  campus. 
Night  deepened,  and  with  it  came  an  increase, 
rather  than  a  quieting  of  the  noises,  as  if  Youth 
were  bound  to  have  one  last,  gleesome  frolic 
before  the  sedate  masters  of  Books  curbed  their 
liberties.  In  the  darkness  of  the  night,  sitting 
at  the  window,  exactly  as  I  had  done  at  Evan- 
gelical University  six  years  previously,  I  had  an 
alien  feeling  as  I  listened  to  the  sounds  which 
soared  up  to  my  ears  from  the  gloom  below. 
Demon  yells,  demon  howls  of  acute  misery, 
throbbings  of  mandolin  strings,  the  hoarse  toot- 

[299] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

ing  of  a  fish  horn,  a  piercing  falsetto  voice  under 
my  window  trying  to  sing, 

"  O.  O,  0!  Dear,  dear  old  days,  love!  " 

the  clanging  of  a  hand  bell  and  intermittent  re- 
volver shots.  These  were  only  a  few  of  all  the 
riot  of  sounds  spreading  through  the  night  air, 
over  the  campus  and  bursting  out  of  the  dormi- 
tory windows  on  every  side  of  me.  While  I  sat 
wondering  how  a  hundred  or  so  of  faculty  could 
ever  bring  seriousness  out  of  such  a  chaos  of 
youthful  energy,  I  heard  a  chug  underneath  my 
window  as  a  truckman  hurled  a  trunk  to  the 
sidewalk:  my  trunk.  Immediately  I  went  on 
the  campus,  discovered  two  Freshmen,  and 
with  all  the  abandon  of  a  Junior  that  I  could 
muster  for  the  occasion,  I  coolly  invited  them 
to  assist  me  in  carrying  the  heavily  loaded 
trunk  up  the  three  nights  of  stairs.  So  con- 
formed to  the  fagging  custom  were  the  Fresh- 
men, that  when  one  of  them  unfortunately 
sliced  his  finger  on  a  loose  nail  and  I  com- 
miserated him  on  it,  he  said,  keeping  his  grip 
on  the  trunk,  meanwhile, 

"Nothing  at  all,  sir.  Nothing  at  all." 
Next  morning  the  trio  of  bell  chimes,  in  the 
tower  of  the  college  chapel,  hurled  clanging, 
throbbing  scales-of-three  over  the  quiet  campus. 
Immediately  from  the  doorways  of  dormitories, 
boarding  clubs,  and  the  Commons,  appeared 
chatting  groups  of  students  who  took  the  paths 

[300] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

across  the  campus  towards  the  first  chapel  serv- 
ice. From  the  North,  the  South,  the  East  and 
the  West  they  hurried;  hundreds  and  hundreds 
of  well-dressed  youths,  arm  in  arm  or  four  and 
five  abreast  as  they  walked. 

The  choir,  transepts  and  gallery  were  soon 
crowded,  almost  to  suffocation.  The  morning 
sun  in  trying  to  break  through  the  windows 
into  the  dimness  merely  glorified  the  pictured 
saints,  and  prophets,  shepherds  and  sheep. 
The  gowned  organist  played  a  part  of  the  grand 
finale  of  The  Pilgrim's  Chorus.  The  gowned 
figure  of  the  President  arose  and  stood  silent  a 
second  while  a  wave  of  reverent  stillness  swept 
through  the  chapel.  Scripture  followed  hymn, 
and  a  simple  prayer  was  followed  by  a  general 
confession.  Then  the  organ  burst  into  a  tri- 
umphant recessional,  and  the  students  noisily 
crowded  down  the  aisles  into  the  open  air.  The 
day's  work  was  begun,  having  had  invoked  on 
it  the  blessing  from  the  Author  of  all  Truth, 
and  the  Creator  of  that  World  which  through- 
out the  days  and  years,  has  had  such  fascina- 
tion for  students  and  professors,  of  Science,  of 
Art  and  Faith. 

In  the  confusion  of  the  multitude  of  students, 
most  of  them  strangers  to  me,  I  felt  the  futility 
of  my  social  ambitions.  In  Evangelical  Uni- 
versity and  in  the  theological  seminary  I  had 
been  in  the  midst  of  small  groups  of  students, 
whose  names,  characteristics  and  acquaintance 

[301] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

could  be  compassed  in  a  few  short  weeks. 
But  the  vast  procession  of  young  men  which 
blackened  the  greensward  of  the  campus  that 
morning  dismayed  me.  It  seemed  that  mere 
hand-shaking  and  saying  to  each  individual 
member  of  it,  "I  am  glad  to  know  you!"  would 
demand  months  and  months  of  time.  It  was 
a  new  experience,  too,  after  the  simple  democ- 
racy in  my  previous  schools,  to  have  those 
who  were  my  classmates  and  college  associates, 
pass  me  without  a  word  of  morning  greeting, 
without  a  lift  of  the  eyes. 

But  that  was  only  the  first  day! 

The  second  morning,  as  I  sat  in  the  chapel, 
I  chanced  to  have  my  attention  attracted  by  a 
curious  fingering  of  paper.  It  was  the  student 
next  to  me  who  had  some  blank  sheets  of  paper 
in  his  hands  which  he  shuffled  intermittently  and 
over  which  he  kept  passing  the  ball  of  his  fore- 
finger. The  organ  had  not  ceased  its  prelude, 
and  the  students  had  not  ceased  entering  the 
chapel,  so  I  paid  a  stricter  attention  to  the 
strange  recreation  of  my  companion.  Though 
he  shuffled  his  blank  papers  with  great  skill 
and  fingered  their  surfaces  with  scientific  regu- 
larity, his  eyes  —  wide,  staring  ones,  —  were 
kept  fixed  on  the  President's  pulpit  —  never 
once  did  they  turn  on  my  inquisitiveness  or 
towards  the  papers. 

One  of  the  students  then  slipped  by  me  and 
took  a  vacant  seat  next  to  this  shuffler  of 

[302] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

papers.  As  soon  as  he  was  seated,  however,  he 
bent  forward  and  said,  to  me, 

"Your  name's  Priddy,  isn't  it?  I'm  Sander- 
son, the  monitor  who  keeps  the  attendance  of 
this  section.  By  the  way,  have  you  met 
Quarles?  Quarles,"  he  said  to  the  student 
who  was  shuffling  the  papers,  "meet  Priddy, 
your  classmate!"  Quarles,  without  taking  his 
eyes  from  their  fixed  stare  on  the  President's 
pulpit,  extended  me  his  hand,  and  said,  in  a 
very  quiet  voice, 

"I'm  glad  to  meet  you,  Priddy!  I'm  blind, 
as  you  probably  know." 

I  expressed  my  amazement  that  he  should 
be  in  college. 

"Oh,"  Sanderson  exclaimed,  "it  doesn't  seem 
to  bother  him  any.  I  notice  that  he's  getting 
on  for  Phi  Beta  Kappa.  He  makes  us  hump!" 

'Then  you  are  able  to  take  the  regular 
studies!"  I  gasped. 

"Yes,"  said  Quarles,  "the  regular  studies!" 

"Of  course,"  I  went  on,  "you  omit  mathe- 
matics, languages,  and  such  things!" 

"Why  should  I,  Priddy?"  asked  Quarles 
turning  toward  me  his  expressionless  eyes. 

"Well,  I  really  don't  see  how  you  can  manage 
—  those  subjects,"  I  explained. 

"He  manages  all  right,"  interrupted  Sander- 
son, "why,  Priddy,  he's  taken  nineties  in  cal- 
culus, French  and  German  and  Greek,  and  is 
right  there  when  it  comes  to  such  graft  courses, 

[303] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

as  philosophy  and  English!  Oh,  you  don't 
need  to  pity  him :  rather  pity  me,  who  with  my 
eyesight,  am  hardly  able  to  pull  through  Fine 
Arts  One!" 

Quarles  then  explained  to  me  how,  before 
taking  his  courses,  he  had  a  student  read  to 
him  the  complete  text  which  he  translated  into 
Braille  with  his  blind-writing  apparatus,  on 
sheets  of  paper.  He  also  used  the  same  instru- 
ment/almost  as  quickly  as  we,  with  our  sight, 
would  use  our  pencils  in  the  professor's  lectures. 
The  leaves  he  had  been  shuffling  that  morning, 
formed  a  reading  lesson  in  French. 

Everybody  was  the  friend  of  Quarles.  He 
would  be  groping  his  way  alone  over  a  path  to  a 
class  but  a  brief  moment,  for  a  student,  playing 
ball,  nearby  would  signal  to  his  comrade,  who 
would  hold  the  ball,  and  then,  throwing  down  his 
glove  would  hurry  over,  have  a  cheery  word  of 
greeting,  ask  Quarles  whither  he  was  bound,  link 
arms  with  the  blind  student  and  guide  him 
into  a  path  where  he  could  find  his  own  way 
without  need  of  piloting.  In  this  way,  Quarles 
must  have  felt  the  arm  of  nearly  every  upper- 
classman,  for  not  only  were  they  willing  to 
straighten  out  his  walks  for  him,  and  read  to 
him,  but  they  also  took  him  with  them  on 
excursions,  which  he  shared  with  excellent  com- 
radeship and  proved  to  be  as  good  a  mountain 
climber  as  the  best. 

In  this  way,  too,  through  walks,  at  meals,  and 
[304] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

in  classes,  I  soon  had  the  students  differentiated 
and  had  a  formidable  list  of  friendships. 

It  was  my  custom,  throughout  the  fall  months 
when  the  highways  were  hard  and  untouched 
by  snow,  to  ride  weekly  to  and  from  college 
on  a  bicycle  which  I  had  bought  for  that  pur- 
pose. On  this  twenty-mile  excursion,  along  a 
winding  river  and  through  quiet,  little  hamlets, 
I  had  certain  resting-places  where  I  could  breathe 
and  refresh  myself  with  a  sup  of  water. 

Doctor  Floyd's  well,  conveniently  near  the 
highway  at  the  summit  of  a  steep  grade,  had 
also  a  rustic  bench  near  it,  from  which  a  most 
gratifying  vista  could  be  obtained,  which  in- 
cluded the  view  of  a  pyramidal  mountain  cone 
framed  in  a  circular  opening  of  twinkling  poplar 
leaves,  at  whose  foot  a  silvery  dash  of  river 
curved  under  high,  bush-lined  banks,  with  now 
and  then  a  cow  or  a  colt  completing  the  compo- 
sition by  standing  in  the  river. 

The  Doctor,  himself,  whose  permission  to 
drink  of  the  water  and  to  seat  myself  on  the 
bench  for  a  rest  I  had  taken  pains  to  secure, 
was  a  short,  stout,  bald-headed  man  of  about 
sixty,  whose  clean-shaven  cheeks  were  always 
flushed  by  an  excess  of  blood.  He  had  retired 
from  active  practise  and  was  engaged  in  the 
delightful,  old  age  recreation  of  seeing  how  many 
eggs  he  could  persuade  a  harem  of  Plymouth 
Rocks  to  lay  through  a  most  careful,  scientific 
mixture  of  laying  foods,  use  of  germless  drink- 

[305] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

ing  troughs,  and  adaptation  to  an  expensive 
mode  of  existence. 

One  Saturday  noon,  as  I  sat  on  the  bench 
puffing  for  breath,  for  the  day  was  both  dusty 
and  hot,  the  Doctor,  with  the  egg  record  for 
the  week  in  his  hands,  which  he  came  down  to 
show  me,  sat  down  on  the  bench  and  said, 

"  Well,  do  those  wild  students  know  what  they 
are  in  college  for?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  asked,  puzzled  by 
his  sneer. 

"Usually,"  he  explained,  "more'n  half  of  the 
students  in  the  college  over  there  don't  know 
why  they're  there ! " 

"Oh,"  I  said,  "there  are  a  great  number  of 
my  friends  who  are  not  certain  what  they  are 
going  to  do  in  the  world,  after  graduation,  if 
that  is  what  you  mean,  Doctor." 

He  rubbed  his  fat  hands  in  revengeful 
gratification. 

"That's  just  it!  Just  it!"  he  laughed,  cyni- 
cally. "It's  all  a  waste  of  good  money  and 
precious  time.  There's  no  good  can  come  of  it. 
they  don't  take  their  studies  seriously  enough. 
Let  me  see,  how  many  subjects  does  a  student 
have  to  select  from  under  that  new-fangled 
election  system  they  have  —  study  made  easy, 
I  call  it  —  how  many,  now?" 

"I  think  there  must  be  in  the  neighborhood 
of  a  hundred  different  courses,  a  majority  of 
which  are  elective,  so  far  I  know." 

[306] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"And  the  young  lazybones  pick  out  the 
easiest  courses  they  can,  independent  of  the 
good  it'll  do  'em,  eh?" 

"Perhaps  they  do,"  I  replied,  antagonized  by 
his  critical  and  belligerent  tone.  "But  then,  I 
don't  believe  that  a  liberal  education:  a  college 
course,  has  to  do  merely  with  giving  a  student  a 
lot  of  technical  information!" 

The  little  man  fussily  remonstrated. 

"What?  I  thought  that  colleges  were  in  the 
world  to  fit  men  for  their  work,  and  that  if 
they're  to  be  doctors,  why,  they're  to  be  taught 
medicine  and  nothing  else!" 

"That  is  the  function  of  professional  schools," 
I  agreed.  "  Take  my  case,  for  instance.  lama 
minister.  I  spent  three  years  in  a  good  theologi- 
cal seminary.  While  there  I  wanted  technical 
information  on  my  profession.  I  got  it,  and 
assimilated  more  or  less — perhaps  less.  But 
when  I  came  to  college  I  did  not  come  to  add  to 
my  technical  theological  knowledge;  not  at  all!" 

"What  did  you  come  for,  then,"  he  asked, 
with  another  sneer,  "to  get  the  degree,  I  sup- 
pose, like  a  lot  of  others?" 

"I  don't  think  you  give  me  credit  for  being  a 
man  of  ordinary  intelligence,"  I  replied,  hotly, 
angered  by  his  insinuation. 

"Then  what  under  heaven  did  you  come  to 
college  for,  if  not  to  increase  your  theological 
information  and  whatever  ability  you  might 
have  as  a  preacher." 

[307] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"I  came  to  college,"  I  replied,  "to  get  the 
other  man's  point  of  view.  I  reasoned  with 
myself  that  a  purely  technical  education  tends 
to  narrow  a  man  unless  supplemented  by  an 
education  which  might  be  entitled,  'The  Other 
Man's  Point  of  View.' ' 

"That's  a  thrust  at  me,"  replied  the  Doctor, 
"as  if  to  say  that  I,  because  I  took  my  medicine 
with  old  Dr.  Desbrow,  and  never  went  to  one 
of  your  colleges,  was  narrow.  The  idea!" 

"I  was  not  alluding  to  you,  sir,"  I  responded. 
"I  was  merely  making  a  generalization  which 
seems  provable.  For  instance,  I  have  a  friend 
who  is  an  expert  surgeon.  He  has  been  trained 
in  some  of  the  best  clinics  and  has  diplomas 
from  the  most  reputable  medical  colleges.  He 
has  learned  his  profession  well,  in  all  its  finer, 
technical  points.  But  he  never  received  any 
liberal  education.  The  result  is,  that  he  is 
narrow  in  his  tastes,  caring  for  nothing  which 
is  not  flavored  by  anaesthetics  or  redolent  of 
carbolic  acid.  As  there  are  among  his  friends 
those  whose  stomachs  turn  at  the  mention  of  an 
operation  or  at  the  whisper  of  anaesthetics,  he 
has  no  way  of  interesting  them  on  subjects  in 
which  they  are  interested.  He  imagines  that 
because  all  the  world  is  not  poking  steel  points 
in  ulcers  and  cancers,  it  had  better  be  left 
alone.  The  result  is,  that  when  you  mention 
the  surgeon's  name  to  the  townsfolk,  you  will 
hear  words  like  these:  'A  fine  surgeon,  but  as 

[308] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

cranky  and  bitter  as  a  hobby-rider/  No  one 
can  get  along  with  him.  He  loses  business  by 
it.  He  knows  nothing  but  his  profession!" 

"Well,"  demanded  the  doctor,  "that's  a  job 
big  enough  for  any  man  with  brains,  isn't  it?" 

"True,"  I  responded,  "but  the  truly  educated 
surgeon  has  not  only  to  know  his  tools,  his 
diagnoses,  his  operating  methods,  but  along 
with  that  knowledge,  his  final  success  demands 
that  he  be  liberally  trained  in  human  nature, 
that  he  have  at  least  a  faint  idea  of  the  subjects 
in  which  other  people  are  interested.  A  liberal 
education,  added  to  his  professional  education 
gives  him  that." 

"I'd  like  to  know  how?"  demanded  the 
Doctor. 

"Well,  take  my  case  again,  for  instance.  I 
am  going  to  take  a  lot  of  studies  which  are  not 
technically  pertinent  to  sermons  or  doctrines: 
study  of  Dutch  paintings,  Italian,  Chemistry, 
Anatomy  of  the  Brain  and  Sense  Organs,  and 
others  which  I  can't  mention  at  this  time,  be- 
cause I  have  not  decided  just  what  they  will  be. 
Here  is  what  I  mean.  After  an  introductory 
study  of  Italian,  I  shall  learn  just  how  the 
Italians  think.  It  is  good  to  know  that,  surely? 
Then  after  a  brief  course  in  chemistry,  though  I 
shall  not  care  enough  about  it  when  I  am  through 
with  the  experiments,  to  carry  off  a  test  tube,  tie 
it  with  baby  ribbon  and  keep  it  for  a  souvenir,  as 
some  students  do,  I  shall  ever  after  realize  that 

[309] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

while  I  am  swearing  by  theology,  others,  about 
me,  have  reason  for  being  engrossed  in  chemical 
formulas  and  tests.  Each  study  that  I  shall 
take,  and  each  classroom  that  I  shall  visit, 
will  form  opportunities  for  me  to  get  at  the 
points  of  view  which  determine  why  Tom 
differs  from  Joe  and  why  Joe  differs  from  me. 
If  the  college  can  do  that,  Doctor,  and  not  add 
a  single  jot  to  my  theological  knowledge,  I 
shall  feel  more  than  repaid  for  the  time  I  spend 
in  it  and  the  money  I  pay  to  it.  So  that  is 
why  I  don't  think  it  either  wasted  time  or  an 
entirely  hopeless  situation,  Doctor,  if  a  large 
number  of  students  in  the  college  do  not  know 
why  they  are  there.  One  thing  is  certain,  they 
are  getting  trained  in  the  other  man's  point  of 
view!" 

The  Doctor,  evidently  not  at  all  in  agree- 
ment with  my  explanation,  after  he  had  pooh- 
poohed  to  himself  for  a  minute,  thought  to 
change  the  subject  and  for  that  purpose  he  said 
to  me, 

"I  rather  pity  you,  young  man.  I  always 
did  pity  ministers.  They  don't  seem  to  do 
anything  substantial;  that's  why  I  don't  go 
near  a  church.  It's  all  up-in-the-air  preaching, 
and  darned  little  doing.  Now,  keeping  pullets 
or  mixing  a  sick  draught — why,  they  are  some- 
thing worth  while,  now  —  but  preaching  and 
preachers  —  um ! " 

"The  other  man's  point  of  view,  Doctor,"  I 
[310] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

laughed,  as  I  mounted  my  wheel  and  started 
off. 

A  week  later,  the  Doctor  came  out  of  the 
house,  when  I  stopped  at  the  well,  and  as  he 
drew  near  he  shouted, 

"I  drove  over  to  the  college,  last  Wednesday. 
What  a  lazy  set  of  loafers  you've  got  over  there, 
to  be  sure.  I  was  there  in  the  afternoon  and 
saw  them  reading  papers,  strolling  around  the 
campus  and  playing  all  sorts  of  games.  I  don't 
think  they'll  amount  to  much  in  the  world  if 
they  go  on  at  that  rate.  They  seem  so  aimless! 
I  heard  one  fellow,  with  turned  up  trousers  and 
purple  socks  that  would  have  given  light  at 
night,  say  to  another  student,  something  about 
throwing  books  and  professors  to  the  dogs  — 
or  some  such  stuff!" 

"Yes,"  I  admitted,  "I  hear  that  every  day. 
I  know  a  good  many  students  who  care  little 
about  classes  and  text-books." 

The  doctor,  evidently  gratified  with  that 
admission  grunted, 

"Then  what's  the  good  of  the  college  —  to 
them.  Why  doesn't  it  send  them  into  the  world 
to  be  useful?" 

"That's  what  a  good  many  people  say,  about 
us  students,"  I  replied.  "But  books  and  pro- 
fessors and  courses  of  study  are  only  a  part  of 
what  a  student  gets  in  our  college,  sir.  It's  a 
very  peculiar  situation.  I'm  older  than  most 
of  the  students,  and  have  had  the  advantage 

[311] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

of  a  professional  training,  and  so  can  look  on 
the  college  through  somewhat  serious  eyes. 
You  would  be  astounded,  for  instance,  at  the 
tremendous  education  that  the  men  receive 
from  purely  student  affairs." 

"Going  into  the  country,  when  the  football 
team's  won  over  Princeton,  for  instance,"  sniffed 
the  Doctor,  "and  tearing  down  farm  fences! 
Oh,  yes,  a  wonderful  education  in  student 
affairs?  Like  one  of  your  boys  that  came  into 
this  village,  and  in  broad  daylight  went  up  to 
the  grocery  store,  there,  on  the  main  street, 
and  deliberately  took  down  and  carried  off  a 
four-foot,  patent-medicine  thermometer,  the 
folks  all  the  while  thinking  him  to  be  an  agent 
fellow,  come  to  mend  it,  or  change  it.  Oh,  yes, 
a  wonderful  education  those  fellows  get  among 
themselves!" 

After  the  old  man  had  frightened  one  of  his 
pullets  back  into  the  rear  of  the  house,  I  replied, 

"No,  I  didn't  refer  to  isolated  acts  of  mischief, 
Doctor,  but  to  the  student  enterprises  that 
create  ability.  Our  college  is  nothing  more  than 
wheels  within  wheels.  There  are  professors 
and  classroom  studies  for  the  big,  outside  wheels, 
and  for  the  inner  wheels,  whirling  all  the  time, 
are  the  college  newspaper,  the  college  magazine, 
the  athletic  business,  the  writing  and  staging 
of  plays,  the  dramatic  clubs,  the  musical  clubs, 
the  social  service  enterprises,  the  political  clubs 
and  the  religious  work.  Why,  Doctor,  those 

[312] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

students  conduct  all  those  things  practically 
without  help  from  outsiders.  You  would  be 
astounded  at  the  amount  of  executive  and 
administrative  ability  they  demand.  The  stu- 
dents who  run  the  monthly  magazine,  for  in- 
stance, must  be  good  editors,  fair  writers,  and 
managers  of  astuteness,  for  it  has  to  pay  for 
itself,  at  least,  and  must  express  literary  power. 
It  is  the  same  with  the  newspaper.  That  is  a 
business  in  itself,  yet  it  is  managed,  financed 
and  edited  entirely  by  students,  many  of  whom 
find  it  difficult  to  get  interested  in  the  routine 
of  the  college  curriculum.  When  you  multiply 
these  business  and  serious  activities,  you  find 
the  students  actually  doing  profitable  and 
character-forming  tasks  outside  of  the  class- 
rooms which  few  critics  of  the  college  take  the 
trouble  to  notice.  Why,  it  was  only  a  week 
ago,  that  a  student  came  into  my  room  and  had 
a  talk  with  me  about  a  new  college  enterprise 
that  seemed  formidable.  He  was  a  student  who 
did  not  care  five  tooth-picks  for  his  studies. 
He  was  in  difficulties  with  his  physics  course, 
at  the  time,  having  failed  in  it  twice,  and  seem- 
ing to  be  letting  his  third  and  last  chance 
for  his  degree  slip  past  without  giving  it  a 
thought.  The  people  on  the  campus,  and  the 
professors  in  the  classrooms  appraised  this 
fellow  as  a  'loafer'  and  an  'idler.'  Yet,  that 
morning  he  came  to  me  and  said  that  he  pro- 
posed to  start  a  comic  monthly,  at  ten  cents  a 

[313] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

copy,  himself  to  be  editor-in-chief,  and  the  jokes, 
poems,  pictures,  designs,  the  securing  of  adver- 
tisement and  subscribers,  to  be  under  his 
general  charge  and  apportioned  to  willing  stu- 
dents. He  went  off  for  two  days,  at  his  own 
expense,  secured  over  a  hundred  dollars'  worth 
of  advertising,  and  only  last  week  had  news- 
boys selling  on  the  campus  a  first-class,  neatly 
printed,  well-filled,  artistically  illustrated  comic 
monthly,  wrhich,  by  this  time  has  its  regular 
staff  of  student  artists,  poets,  joke  writers, 
business  managers,  and  board  of  editors;  it's 
a  paper  which  promises  to  be  one  of  the  features 
of  student  life.  No,  Doctor,"  I  concluded  as  I 
felt  of  my  tires,  preparatory  to  taking  up  my 
journey  towards  home,  "students  may  seem 
shiftless,  indifferent,  and  unenthusiastic  on  the 
campus,  but  when  you  get  behind  the  laziest 
of  them  you  are  liable  to  find  that  they  are  giving 
themselves  to  some  sort  of  character-making 
work,  —  contrary  to  the  posters  which  lead  out- 
siders to  think  that  college  life  consists  of  a 
place  where  the  student  sits  in  the  sun  on  a 
fence,  smoking  a  pipe  with  a  leashed  bull-pup 
at  his  feet!" 

"Say,"  called  the  Doctor,  as  I  fitted  the  toe 
clips  to  my  shoes,  "my  pullets  did  a  hundred 
and  sixty  this  week.  Laying,  —  eh?" 


[314] 


Chapter  XXXV.  Hot-Popoven 
and  a  Cold  W^atch  in  the  Station. 
The  Sleigh-load  of  ^Talent 

WHEN  the  winter  storms  piled  the 
river  highway  with  snowdrifts,  I 
had  to  put  aside  my  bicycle  and 
use  the  railway  trains.  This 
made  it  necessary  for  me  to 
leave  my  home  on  the  Sunday  midnight 
train  that  I  might  be  ready  for  my  classes  at 
college,  on  Monday  morning.  In  that  northern 
part  of  New  England  what  storms  could  grip 
the  land  and  put  a  stop  to  train  traffic  and 
cartage!  One  of  my  parishioners  showed  me, 
for  my  comfort  possibly,  an  actual  photograph 
of  a  drift  of  snow  so  high  that  a  liberal  load  of 
hay  on  a  wagon  stood  on  a  level  with  it,  when  a 
gap  was  dug  through.  I  had  packed  fir  boughs 
around  the  parsonage  cellar  wall,  and  that  was 
soon  covered  with  the  drifts;  even  the  window 
sills  were  reached  by  the  snow  at  last.  As  for 
the  crumpled  hills  surrounding  the  village,  their 
lonely,  hurricane-swept  crests,  —  with  the  stick- 
like  birches  bending  away  from  the  north  like 

[315] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

timid  creatures  afraid  to  stand  up,  day  by  day, 
against  those  icy  assaults,  —  presented  a  wild, 
dismal  picture  of  winter's  fury. 

My  custom  was,  during  those  months,  to 
arrive  home  on  the  Saturday  afternoon  train 
and  immediately  set  to  work  splitting  the  maple 
blocks  of  wood  into  convenient  fire-wood  and 
stacking  a  week's  supply  in  the  kitchen  wood- 
box,  while  my  wife  held  a  meeting  with  the 
children  of  the  parish  in  the  parlor.  Then  on 
Sunday,  I  would  preach  two  sermons.  I  had 
to  wear  my  overshoes  in  the  evening  on  ac- 
count of  the  chill  in  which  the  vestry  was  always 
wrapped.  After  this  service,  my  wife  would 
have  the  supper  table  spread  with  preserved 
pears,  hot  pop-overs  and  cocoa.  We  would 
linger  over  this  meal,  the  last  I  should  have 
at  home  for  a  week,  and  keeping  a  sharp  eye 
on  the  clock.  At  the  first  announcement  of 
ten  o'clock,  the  lantern  would  be  lighted  and 
the  words  of  farewell  be  given  at  the  door. 
Then  out  into  the  dark  misery  of  the  night,  with 
my  lantern  flickering  my  shadow  over  the  houses, 
and  my  wife's  lonesome  sigh  echoing  in  my  heart, 
I  would  creep  through  the  storms  of  swirling 
snow,  which  wet  my  hot  cheeks,  pass  over  the 
quiet  bridge  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  river 
and  climb  up  a  steep  road  until  the  silent, 
isolated  station  was  reached.  Across  the  river 
I  could  see  the  dark  outlines  of  the  village,  and 
in  the  midst  of  it,  a  golden  point  of  light:  the 

[316] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

light  of  my  home.  The  train  was  due  at  half- 
past  ten,  but  it  was  never  on  time  and  so  I  had 
long  waits.  The  station-master  left  the  station 
dark  on  Sunday  evenings.  He  gave  me  a  key 
with  which  I  unlocked  the  door  and  was  able  to 
keep  warm  while  waiting.  After  having  lighted 
the  swinging  lamp,  I  would  produce  a  book  and 
let  the  slow  minutes  pass  until  the  late  train 
screamed  around  the  corner,  as  if  angry  with 
itself  for  its  slow  progress  between  stations.  On 
the  first  sound  of  the  whistle,  it  would  be  a 
wild  scramble  to  quench  the  light,  lock  the 
door,  and  rush  out  to  the  train  before  it  pulled 
out  from  the  station. 

An  hour  later  the  train  would  draw  into  the 
terminus  and  leave  me  stranded,  four  miles 
away  from  my  dormitory.  Then  I  had  to  cross 
over  to  the  hotel,  engage  one  of  the  rooms  and 
try  to  sleep  till  half -past  five  the  next  morning; 
if  sleep  were  possible  with  such  a  screaming  of 
freight-train  whistles,  and  such  a  bumping  of 
shifting  engines  as  prevailed  through  the  small 
hours  of  the  night. 

At  eight  o'clock  the  following  morning,  eye- 
lids leaden  with  loss  of  sleep  and  my  body 
weakened  through  lack  of  rest,  and  an  inade- 
quate breakfast,  I  would  commence  the  first  of 
my  three  Monday  morning  classes,  and  not  be 
free  from  the  intellectual  discipline  again  until 
nearly  noon,  after  which  I  would  spend  the 
afternoon  in  sleep  or  recreation. 

[317] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

One  day  the  director  of  social  service,  a 
department  of  the  religious  work  done  by 
students,  came  to  me  and  said, 

"Priddy,  we've  got  all  sorts  of  concert  talent 
about  here.  Would  your  church  care  if  we 
should  give  them  an  evening's  entertainment?" 

"They  can't  afford  to  do  much  in  that  line," 
I  replied. 

"But  all  we  shall  expect  will  be  our  expenses 
and  a  good,  hot  supper.  We  can  hire  a  big 
sleigh  and  make  up  quite  a  party  to  go  over 
the  hills." 

"What  have  you  got  —  for  talent?"  I  asked. 

He  thought  a  minute,  and  then  said, 

"Why,  we've  got  banjo  players  to  spare,  club 
jugglers,  a  sleight-of-hand  performer,  four  or 
five  male  quartettes,  a  stringed  orchestra,  two 
readers,  and  a  ventriloquist.  Of  course,  the 
night  we  could  give  to  you  would  find  some  of 
these  students  unable  to  go,  but  tell  me  what 
sort  of  an  entertainment  you  would  like  and 
I'll  see  what  we  can  do  for  you.  We  want  to 
make  the  evenings  brighter  in  some  of  these 
isolated,  north  country  villages.  It's  a  little 
bit  of  social  service  that  brings  its  own  reward, 
for  the  boys  like  to  get  out  and  have  a  good 
country  supper!" 

He  was  able,  finally,  to  make  up  a  program 
which  included  a  reader,  a  young  professor  who 
would  swing  flaming  clubs,  a  sleight-of-hand 
performer  and  a  male  quartette. 

[318] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

On  the  afternoon  appointed,  these  artists, 
wrapped  up  in  thick  clothes,  appeared  in  front 
of  a  dormitory  and  were  packed  into  a  huge 
barge  on  runners  until,  including  some  invited 
professors  and  their  wives,  we  numbered  twenty 
or  more. 

The  four  horses,  with  streamers  of  brass  bells 
hanging  in  front  of  them  jingled  over  the  packed 
snow  roads  of  the  village  and  finally  brought  us 
into  the  less  used  hill  roads,  which,  in  places 
rambled  over  the  hills  until  the  climb  seemed 
interminable.  The  snow  began  to  fall  and  we 
plunged  down  the  steep  declivities,  half  blinded 
by  it,  but  opposing  the  storm  with  jokes,  songs 
and  banter. 

On  a  shelf  of  road,  which  had  been  cut  from 
a  steep  hill-side,  and  which  the  winds,  un- 
hindered by  protecting  wall  or  trees,  had  stripped 
of  snow  and  left  glare  ice  for  the  sleigh  to  cross, 
our  runners  skidded  to  such  an  angle  that  we 
were  threatened  with  an  overturn  that  would 
have  hurled  us  down  the  steep  bank,  had  not 
some  of  the  students  leaped  to  the  ground,  and 
by  sheer  strength,  aided  by  the  careful  control 
of  the  driver,  kept  the  sleigh  to  the  road  until 
we  were  in  safety. 

Then  as  the  twilight  set  in,  and  there  were  no 
sign-posts  to  guide  us,  we  stopped  at  the  first 
house  and  asked  how  far  we  were  from  the 
village.  An  old  woman,  dressed  in  a  greasy 
print  wrapper,  and  drawing  gulps  of  smoke  from 

[319] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

a  briar  pipe,  said  she  guessed  we  were  "nigh 
four  miles  this  side  of  it.'*  We  drove  through 
the  storm  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  more,  and 
then,  thinking  that  we  should  be  coming  in 
sight  of  the  village,  we  stopped  a  man  who  was 
going  to  his  barn  with  milking  cans  and  repeated 
our  request  as  to  how  far  we  were  from  the 
village,  and,  as  if  he  had  been  in  league  with 
the  old  woman  with  the  pipe,  a  mile  back  he 
said, 

"'Bout  four  mile,  I'd  say!" 

Hopefully,  then,  we  rumbled  and  scraped 
down  a  hill  for  another  half  hour,  and  then, 
meeting  another  sleigh,  coming  in  our  direc- 
tion, our  driver  hailed  the  man  at  the  reins, 
who  was  muffled  to  his  ears  in  a  swathing  of 
crazy-quilt,  and  shouted, 

"How  far  are  we  from  the  village?" 

And  much  to  our  dismay,  a  rumbling  answer 
came  from  the  folds  of  the  crazy-quilt,  which 
we  had  to  interpret  as, 

"Jes'  four  mile!" 

Ten  minutes,  later,  however,  we  had  the  joy 
of  arriving  hungry,  cold,  but  not  without  spirit, 
at  the  church  door,  where,  under  kerosene 
lamps,  and  on  white  paper  table-cloths,  was 
spread  a  meal  of  hot  biscuits,  hot  yellow-eyed 
beans,  hot  pea  beans,  potato  salad,  hot  kidney 
beans,  dill  pickles,  pickled  beets,  four  sorts  of 
frosted  cake,  luscious  lemon  pies  and  coffee. 

After  the  supper,  the  students  went  into  my 
[320] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

church  and  found  a  hundred  of  the  villagers 
gathered,  in  spite  of  the  storm.  The  quartette 
sang  entrancingly  their  college  jingles.  The 
young  professor  swung  his  flaming  clubs,  until, 
when  he  was  in  the  midst  of  some  complicated 
spirals  his  alcohol-soaked  rags  burnt  out,  un- 
expectedly, and  he  had  to  apologize  since  he 
could  not  go  on  with  his  novel  act  because 
his  "spirits  had  given  out."  The  reader  gave, 
with  great  effect,  a  memorable  quarrel  between 
man  and  wife,  and  sparkling  anecdotes  which 
would  have  taken  the  dullness  off  a  yokel's 
heart.  Then  the  star  of  the  concert,  the 
sleight-of-hand  performer  began  his  skilful 
mysteries.  He  made  a  pencil  cling  to  the 
palm  of  his  hand,  brought  flags  and  flowers 
from  an  empty  hat,  multiplied  a  billiard  ball 
into  six,  wafted  a  half  dollar  into  thin  air,  and, 
finally,  produced  a  pack  of  cards,  at  the  sight 
of  which,  I  thought  my  deacons  would  institute 
proceedings  of  worldliness  against  me  for  allow- 
ing it,  but  which,  when  made  to  do  the  weirdest 
acts,  finally  reconciled  even  the  most  austere 
of  them;  so  much  so  that  one  grim  Puritan 
even  came  forward  and  held  the  pack  —  after 
much  persuasion  —  while  the  man  of  mystery 
seemed  to  change  them  without  the  holder's 
knowledge. 

At  the  close  of  the  entertainment,  the  college 
delegation,  after  going,  every  one,  to  the  church 
women  and  declaring  that  they  had  never 

[321] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

eaten  a  better  supper  than  had  been  provided, 
got  into  the  sleigh,  the  driver  cracked  his  long 
whip  with  a  deft  explosion  for  the  ears  of  the 
on-looking  villagers,  and  with  a  hearty  yell,  they 
started  on  their  way  down  the  river  road 
through  the  storm,  and  I  stood  with  my  wife  at 
our  door  until  their  songs  died  away  among 
the  midnight  shadows  of  the  hills  and  storm. 


[3221 


Chapter  XXX  VI.  A  Chapter 
of  Sentiment  and  Literary  Atmos- 
phere, Including  the  Account  of 
Sanderson,  the  Procrastinator. 
How  'Two  Prize  Checks  W^ere 
Spent.  A  Parish  of  Talent 

WHEN  came  the  announcement  of 
Spring,  at  college,  after  the  lawns 
and  the  paths  had  dried,  and  when 
the  evenings  were  filled  with  the 
throaty    gurglings    of    hopping 
robins.     A  sign  in  front  of  the  Commons  an- 
nounced, "Class  Sing  Tonight  7:30."    This  is  a 
"Sing;" 

At  seven  o'clock  the  students  gather  by  classes 
at  four  different  parts  of  the  campus:  the 
seniors  to  sit  on  their  double  fence,  the  juniors 
to  sit  on  the  steps  of  the  recitation  hall,  the 
sophomores  to  occupy  the  commodious  steps  of 
the  Assembly  Hall,  and  the  freshmen  to  stand 
near  the  library. 
Silence ! 

[323] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

Suddenly  the  low,  vibrating  voices  of  the 
seniors  fill  the  air  with,  "Harvest  Moon."  On 
its  completion,  the  three  lower  classes  send 
snapping  hand  claps  over  to  the  fence. 

Silence ! 

The  juniors  send  across  to  the  seniors  the 
melodious,  sentimental  song,  "Summer  Days 
and  Love,  Love,  Love!"  over  the  triple  trills  of 
which  the  high-pitched  tenors  linger  as  if  they 
would  stop  there  and  sound  those  musical  half 
tones  until  out  of  breath.  Led  by  the  seniors, 
the  underclassmen  repeat  the  hand-clapping. 

Silence ! 

With  a  sudden,  flank  attack,  the  sophomores, 
directed  by  a  shirt-sleeved  and  very  fat  student 
fly  into  the  midst  of  "Dolly  Grey,"  a  stirring 
war  ballad,  and  from  the  pathos  which  wells 
out  of  the  sentimental  passages,  one  can  easily 
imagine  those  wild,  irresponsible  sophomores 
crying  in  harmony  with  it.  Once  more  the 
three  classes  snap  their  applause. 

Silence ! 

A  longer  silence  this  time,  for  the  freshmen, 
making  their  first  appearance  in  the  role  of 
class  singers  —  a  thick  mass  of  them  —  cannot 
agree  with  their  director  as  to  what  the  premiere 
shall  be.  Soon  the  matter  is  settled.  An  arm 
is  raised  and  then  —  a  low  rumble  that  dies 
down,  followed  by  three  giant  laughs  from  three 
different  points  of  the  campus.  The  freshman 
leader  has  pitched  the  tune  too  low. 

[324] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"Out  with  it,  Freshies!"  comes  a  mocking, 
cutting  call  across  from  the  sophomores  — 
traditional  enemies  of  the  freshmen. 

One  more  try,  and  with  the  effect  of  an  aero- 
plane getting  its  flight  slowly,  hesitatingly,  the 
freshman  song  at  last  rises  to  a  mighty,  boyish, 
exultant  rendering  of  "Old  Black  Joe!"  for  they 
dare  not  trust  themselves  with  a  recent  melody. 

After  the  songs,  the  cheers!   the  class  cheers! 

The  seniors  give  one  for  the  juniors,  and  the 
juniors  applaud  it. 

The  seniors  give  one  for  the  sophomores,  and 
the  sophomores  applaud  it. 

Then  the  seniors  give  a  heartier  one  for  the 
freshmen,  and  those  boys  almost  split  the 
heavens  with  their  yellings. 

Next  the  juniors  make  the  rounds  of  the 
classes,  with  the  same  response  of  applause, 
save  that  their  cheer  for  the  seniors  gets  but 
scant  and  dignified  applause,  for  the  seniors 
must  not  be  too  boyish! 

Then  the  sophomores  and  the  freshmen  have 
their  turn  and  the  cheering  is  over. 

Silence.  The  night  is  deepening,  and  one 
hardly  stirs.  Four  huge  masses  of  shadow 
move  in  the  direction  of  the  campus  centre. 
Then  one  hears  a  martial,  drill-sergeant's 
"Left,  left,  left!"  as  the  classes  catch  the  step. 
It  is  so  arranged  that,  without  a  halt,  the  four 
classes  merge  into  one  mass  in  the  middle  of 
the  green. 

[325] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

Silence  again.  Not  a  sound  is  heard,  until 
the  college  song-leader  hums  a  pitch.  Then  the 
Alma  Mater  hymn  goes  up  with  all  the  thrilling 
reverence  in  it  of  a  song  of  love  sung  to  the 
college  mother.  If  one  were  near  the  singers, 
it  would  be  possible  to  see,  how,  when  the  song 
deepens  in  theme,  the  sophomore  unconsciously 
throws  his  arm  over  the  shoulder  of  the  fresh- 
man, and  the  senior  throws  his  over  the  shoulder 
of  the  junior:  all  brothers  as  the  melody 
unfolds  itself. 

The  hymn  ended,  the  cheer-leader  moves  to 
the  side  of  the  song-leader,  says  a  few  words, 
and  then,  as  he  takes  the  position  of  a  prize- 
fighter, on  guard,  with  his  fist  extended,  he 
pulls  out  from  the  disciplined  throats,  a  snappy, 
thundering  crash  of  a  college  cheer.  It  is  over. 
The  crowd  thins  out  over  the  star-lighted 
campus.  Spring  has  come! 

I  was  amazed,  that  year,  at  the  amount  of 
personal  supervision  the  professors  gave  to  the 
students,  out  of  hours,  amidst  such  large  classes 
as  they  were  called  upon  to  instruct.  It  had 
been  drilled  into  my  mind  at  Evangelical  Uni- 
versity that  only  in  the  small  college  is  it 
possible  for  the  professors  to  "get  next"  to  the 
student  in  a  wise,  helpful  manner.  So  that 
when  I  came  into  the  centre  of  the  college  life, 
in  all  its  complexity,  diversity  and  confusion,  I 
actually  expected  to  see  the  professors  deliver 
their  lectures,  and  then  coldly  leave  us  to  our- 

[326] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

selves,  withdrawing  themselves  from  the  student 
life  with  academic  aloofness. 

But  on  Tuesday  evenings  the  faculty  were 
"at  home"  and  welcomed  such  student  visitors 
as  cared  to  accept  the  courteous  hospitality  of 
their  cheerful  homes.  After  classes,  and  in 
their  offices  at  certain  hours,  we  could  go  to 
our  teachers  and  be  sure  of  receiving  their  most 
thorough  attention  on  the  matter  in  mind. 
Then,  too,  the  professors  were  always  eagerly 
seeking  to  align  themselves  to  our  life:  to  enter 
with  us  into  the  profitable  ventures  of  a  social, 
inspiring  nature.  Thus  it  came  about  that  they 
served  on  athletic  committees,  religious  boards, 
literary  and  social  programs.  It  was  because 
they  possessed  this  spirit  of  fellowship  with 
their  students,  that  I  was  enabled  to  venture 
into  a  new  world  of  opportunity.  It  was  in  this 
wise. 

I  had  been  spending  the  largest  proportion 
of  my  time  in  literary  composition,  for  my  wife, 
my  sermon  critic,  had  found  that  in  my  pulpit 
address  I  needed  rhetorical  clearness,  so  I  deter- 
mined to  discipline  myself  to  that  end.  When 
the  English  professor  gave  out  exercises,  like 
editorials,  descriptions,  book  reviews,  or  short 
stories,  I  resolved  to  put  the  burden  of  my  time 
in  such  writings  with  no  other  thought  than  to 
remedy  my  pulpit  faults.  When  some  of  these 
exercises  were  returned,  after  examination  by 
the  professor,  I  found  red  pencil  notes,  suggest- 

[327] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

ing  that  this  or  that  be  submitted  for  publica- 
tion in  the  college  periodicals.  These  red 
pencil  suggestions  were  common  in  the  class, 
and  gave  great  inspiration  to  the  other  students, 
as  they  gave  inspiration  to  me.  One  day,  when 
I  arrived  late  at  class,  I  found  the  professor 
reading  aloud  a  description  I  had  written. 
This  was  followed  by  a  request  for  a  con- 
ference in  the  teacher's  office. 

"I  have  been  watching  your  work,"  said  the 
professor,  kindly,  "and  think  that  you  might 
try  for  the  junior  essay  prize  and  also  for  the 
prize  offered  for  the  best  piece  of  college  fiction. 
I  have  been  advising  several  others  in  the  class 
to  compete,  and  hope  that  you  will  find  time  for 
the  work.  These  prize  competitions  are  real 
tests  as  to  the  value  of  classroom  work.  I 
hope  you  and  the  others  will  try!" 

On  account  of  the  professor's  kindly  sugges- 
tion, I  began  to  work  on  the  essay  and  the 
story,  and  kept  my  typewriter  clattering  hour 
after  hour  when  not  in  class.  For  all  the 
lure  of  authorship  was  before  me.  The  lure 
of  substantial  prizes.  The  lure  of  contest. 
The  lure  of  doing  something,  in  composition, 
that  seemed  real. 

When  I  entered  upon  this  special  literary 
adventure  I  found  that  I  was  part  of  a  consider- 
able fellowship,  whose  interest  in  the  work  was 
kept  alive  by  the  wise,  far-seeing,  personal 
interest  of  our  different  literary  instructors.  I 

[328] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

found  one  student  who  confidentially  informed 
me  that  he  was  making  a  special  research  in  the 
library  concerning  some  wild,  unknown  pirates 
who  once  infested  the  New  England  coast.  He 
meant  to  write  at  length  upon  that  subject  for 
the  gratification  of  his  own  literary  curiosity. 
Another  student  was  busy,  like  the  youthful 
Stevenson,  in  imitating,  deliberately,  the  styles 
of  the  world  famous  authors,  and  just  then,  on 
our  first  acquaintance,  was  in  the  wild  morals, 
but  cameo-cut  phrases  of  Maupassant! 

By  the  end  of  spring,  in  fact,  I  found  myself 
in  as  inspiring  a  literary  atmosphere  as,  prob- 
ably, ever  an  undergraduate  experienced.  For 
I  had  been  made  a  member  of  the  editorial 
board  of  the  college  magazine,  and  even  wrote 
comic  doggerel  and  attempts  at  descriptive  wit 
for  the  now  thoroughly  established  comic 
monthly.  I  have  been  in  a  magazine  board 
meeting,  held  in  a  student's  room,  when  the 
conversation  would  rise  into  debatable  heights, 
and  would  excite  the  whole  company,  over  such 
questions  as: 

"  Are  there  more  than  seven  types  of  plot  possible  in  fiction?  " 

"  Is  the  supernatural  in  Shakespere  scientific?  " 

"  Was  Poe  a  plagiarist?  "     , 

"  Will  any  of  the  present-day  six  best  sellers  become  classic?  " 

Not  only  did  we  have  these  conversations 
among  ourselves,  but  one  of  the  professors 
invited  a  group  of  us  into  his  home,  once  a 
week,  where  seated  in  his  snug  library  amid 

[329] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

his  choice  editions,  we  would  take  up  the  tech- 
nical study  of  literature,  enter  into  interesting- 
debates  about  it,  and  then  sit  back  in  our 
chairs  as  our  generous  host  rang  for  the  refresh- 
ments: a  home  touch  which  we  appreciated 
thoroughly. 

Another  pleasurable  surprise  was  the  small 
number  of  text  books  that  I  found  must  be 
purchased.  During  my  first  term  I  bought 
only  two  books  for  seven  classes.  The  pro- 
fessors regarded  the  college  library  as  a  sort  of 
encyclopaedic  text  book  for  over  a  thousand 
students:  forming  the  standard  work  on  his- 
tory, economics,  social  science,  literature  and 
the  various  other  departments  of  the  curric- 
ulum. At  last,  I  found,  professors  and  stu- 
dents had  broken  loose  from  artificial  authorities 
and  took  their  history  and  economics  not  only 
from  many  treatises  on  the  matter,  but  from 
current  periodicals,  the  daily  newspaper,  cata- 
logues, year  books  and  similar  vital,  first- 
hand sources. 

This  method  of  study,  in  use  throughout  the 
college,  made  the  library  something  more  vivid 
than  a  stack  of  collected  books,  magazines  and 
pamphlets:  it  vitalized  it  and  made  it  the 
resort  of  hundreds  of  students  every  day.  It 
linked  our  classroom  work,  the  professors' 
lectures  and  our  own  studies  to  hundreds  and 
hundreds  of  books,  periodicals  and  papers, 
where  otherwise  we  should  have  been  limited 

[330] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

to  a  half-dozen  omnipotent  authorities.  In 
place  of  reading  selected  Orations  from  a  book 
of  compilations,  I  was  compelled  to  find  the 
original  oration  in  some  yellowed  book  in  which 
it  was  first  printed.  In  studying  the  leading 
principles  of  Forensics  I  had  to  go  to  the  records 
of  the  courts  to  read  the  original  evidence  and 
pleas  in  the  case.  A  procedure  like  that 
appealed  to  the  mind  and  made  one  alert  in 
judgment.  It  also  made  the  library  the  centre 
where  the  real,  serious  work  of  the  student  was 
accomplished,  and  where  one  could  come  in 
daily  contact  with  the  fellows  who  were  after 
serious  results  during  their  four  years'  residence 
in  the  college. 

It  was  in  the  library  that  I  first  made  one  of 
my  deepest  and  most  valuable  college  friend- 
ships. 

It  chanced  that  one  of  my  studies,  the  life 
and  works  of  Goethe,  took  me  to  a  particular 
section  of  the  reference  room  where  the  shelves 
of  Sociology  and  Economics  filled  considerable 
space.  As  I  made  my  excursions  into  the  sec- 
tion, I  became  accustomed  to  the  presence  of 
a  serious-faced  Senior  who  was  constantly 
occupied  with  books  and  periodicals  from  those 
two  departments.  It  became  natural  for  us, 
as  the  term  advanced,  to  ask  one  another  the 
time  or  to  borrow  pencils  or  paper.  Finally 
these  approaches  to  intimacy  developed  into  a 
friendship;  into  a  ripe  friendship  which  in- 

[331] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

eluded  visits  to  one  another's  rooms,  long  walks, 
communings  in  the  club-room  and  ante-class 
conversations:  on  all  these  occasions  a  true 
exchange  of  serious  and  most  profitable  con- 
fidences taking  place. 

Thurber,  for  that  was  my  companion's  name, 
though  the  son  of  a  very  wealthy  father  and 
accustomed  to  the  finer  touches  of  society  life, 
had  undergone,  in  his  contact  with  the  college, 
one  of  those  conscience  awakening,  ambition 
refining  and  ideal  lifting  experiences  which  our 
president  informed  us,  time  and  time  again, 
should  be  the  final  results  of  a  true,  college 
education. 

Thurber's  father  was  one  of  that  type  of 
American  men  who  boast  that  their  success  has 
been  attained  through  self-improvement  and 
self-education  and  who  crystallize  their  own 
peculiar  and  fortunate  experience  into  formal 
axioms,  on  which  every  one  else  must  seek 
success.  Thurber's  father  had  to  his  credit  at 
the  time  a  very  large  textile  mill  in  a  textile 
city  in  the  South  and  it  had  been  his  supreme 
desire  that  his  son,  immediately  on  quitting 
High  School,  should  go  into  the  industry,  work 
his  way  through  it,  and  take  charge  of  it  in  the 
end. 

But  Thurber  had  no  inclination  towards  lint 
and  the  stifling  heat  of  a  cotton  mill,  and  he 
had  so  informed  his  father.  He  also  told  him 
that  nothing  less  than  four  years  at  a  college, 

[332] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

where  he  could  meet  fellows  worth  meeting, 
would  please  him. 

"You  can  imagine  the  look  my  father  gave 
me  when  I  made  that  proposition,  for  it  knocked 
to  splinters  his  special  pet  theories  concerning 
education,"  said  Thurber.  "He  stormed  about 
'  self  -made  men,'  and  quoted  Lincoln  and  some 
others  from  the  classic  list  of  non-college  men: 
pointed  to  himself  and  the  huge  industry  he  had 
created  without  the  aid  of  a  college  education, 
and,  in  all,  gave  me  to  distinctly  understand 
that  a  college  education  would  spoil  a  good  em- 
ployer: that  it  was  a  waste  of  time,  and  that  if 
I  was  set  on  going  to  college,  why  I  could  go  on 
my  own  funds  —  which  I  did  not  have  —  and  be 
hanged!  Of  course  I  was  lazy,  undecided  and 
youthful:  just  at  the  age  when  all  life  is  a  per- 
petual sunny  day.  I  wanted  to  come  to  college 
to  sport  around  and  imagined  my  doom  sealed 
when  father  emphatically  refused  to  fund  me, 
but  mother  —  say  Priddy,  what  would  the 
spoiled  children  of  the  rich  do  without  generous- 
hearted  mothers?  —  my  mother  privately  funded 
me  and  sent  me  here  and  still  maintains  me, 
even  against  father's  orders,  for  he  will  not 
relent  and  imagines  me  to  be  the  fool  of  fools 
in  taking  the  course  I  did." 

"The  so-called  'self -made  men'  are  usually 
very  set  men,"  I  replied. 

"Set?"  muttered  Thurber,  "even  a  vice, 
tight  locked,  is  loose  by  comparison  with  the 

[333] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

prejudices  my  father  has  against  a  liberal  edu- 
cation. Well,  I  came  this  way  and  started  in  to 
sport  it  and  expected  to  be  tutored  through 
my  courses  by  the  narrowest  passing  marks. 
I  spent  most  of  my  time  either  in  the  fraternity 
house  chugging  at  a  piano  or  sitting  in  my  room 
with  my  feet  perched  on  the  table  gazing  into 
space.  Then  I  got  the  —  the  glimpse,  Priddy, 
and  that  changed  it  all." 

"The  glimpse,  what  was  that?" 

"Well,  I  can't  exactly  define  it  or  locate 
where  it  first  began,  but  I  do  recall  that  one 
day,  in  the  classroom  —  it  was  in  Sociology  — 
the  professor  set  me  thinking  on  a  line  I  had 
never  considered  before.  I  can't  tell  what  it  was 
that  he  said  explicitly,  but  he  implicitly  sug- 
gested to  my  mind  that  there  are  such  things 
as  dividends-not-of -money.  Of  course  having 
been  used  to  the  other  sort  of  dividends  all  my 
life,  I  was  attracted  to  the  idea  that  there  were 
other  dividends.  I  kept  thinking  about  it  and 
one  thing  led  to  another.  The  president  spoke 
one  day,  in  chapel,  of  the  educated  man's  duty 
to  his  generation.  I  linked  that  to  '  dividends- 
not-of -money '  and  worked  it  out  to  my  satis- 
faction that  there  was  for  me,  the  son  of  a 
wealthy  manufacturer,  a  place  of  usefulness 
and  service  in  the  world." 

"You  had  a  call  to  the  ministry,  then, 
Thurber?"  I  demanded. 

"Gracious,  no:  not  that!"  he  exclaimed,  in  a 
[334] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

tone  that  implied  I  had  proposed  something 
too  extravagant  for  fancy.  "la  clergyman! 
I  respect  the  cloth,  Priddy,  and  I  am  glad  that 
you  are  making  it  your  profession,  but  really, 
that's  not  my  line.  Perhaps  I'm  not  cut  out 
for  it.  I  know  I'm  not." 

"  You  planned  to  go  into  settlement  or 
Y.M.C.A.  work,  probably,"  I  hinted,  "so  many 
college  fellows  give  themselves  to  that  form  of 
service  in  these  days,  Thurber." 

"I  know  they  do,  Priddy,  but  I  didn't  work 
it  out  in  those  directions,  either,  but  in  a  more 
vital  way:  one  that  has  aroused  every  bit  of 
latent  enthusiasm  for  service  and  helpfulness 
that  might  have  been  hidden  away  in  so  pam- 
pered a  body  as  mine.  It's  what  I  call  the 
glimpse,  Priddy.  Want  me  to  explain  it?" 

"Certainly  I  do." 

"Well,  I  really  was  put  in  a  fix  by  so  much 
talk  in  the  classrooms  from  the  faculty  and  in 
the  chapel  by  the  President  about  *  moral 
leadership'  and  all  that,  and  really  thought  at 
first  that  they  were  asking  me  to  go  into  definite 
self-sacrificing  avocations  like  settlement  work 
and  the  other  forms  of  social  service,  and  I  had 
no  hankering  for  that,  either.  I  hated  to  leave 
father  alone  in  his  old  age  and  wanted,  even- 
tually, to  succeed  him  in  the  ownership  and  direc- 
tion of  his  mills.  I  imagined  myself  a  callow 
materialist,  opposed  to  spiritual  forms  of  influ- 
ence, but  I  did  not  want  to  give  up  the  business. 

[335] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

You  can  probably  imagine  how  heathenish 
I  felt  when  I  contrasted  father's  industrial 
policy  with  the  call  to  be  a  social  servant.  I 
began  to  think  back  to  what  father's  self-edu- 
cation had  done  for  him  and  had  done  for  his 
employees.  I  faced  the  truth  for  the  first  time: 
how  his  narrow-minded  policy  had  brought 
him  great  wealth  at  the  expense  of  his  self- 
respect  and  the  happiness  of  so  many  of  the 
people  who  worked  for  him.  For  years  and 
years  and  years,  he  had  been  just  paying  wages 
for  work  done:  that  was  all.  He  had  paid  no 
attention  to  the  moral  or  social  welfare  of  his 
people:  the  hundreds  of  families  under  his 
control.  He  did  not  go  to  their  church,  attend 
their  lodges,  go  into  their  homes,  or  ever  make 
it  his  policy  to  inquire  about  their  welfare. 
He  was  just  simply  using  them  as  tools  towards 
the  securing  of  a  fortune  —  for  me,  that  was  all. 
I  saw  it  all,  how  he  had  been  creating  in  his 
little  corner  of  our  American  industry,  labor 
hostility,  unsanitary  conditions,  poor  types  of 
ignorant,  drunken,  loafing  citizens  until  the 
tenements  belonging  to  his  firm  formed  a  per- 
fect slum.  But  he  had  not  the  eyes  to  see,  nor 
has  he  yet;  but  he  goes  on  in  the  darkness  and 
in  the  groove  of  his  own  selfishness,  intensifying 
the  disloyalty  of  his  employees  and  incidentally 
hurting  his  own  reputation.  Yet  I  could  not 
bring  myself  to  give  up  desiring  to  take  on  that 
industry.  It  was  right  then  that  the  glimpse 

[336] 


THROUGH   THE   SCHOOL 

came."     Thurber   paused   for   a   moment   and 
then  continued: 

"Like  the  breaking  of  day,  it  flashed  into  my 
soul  one  morning  in  Ethics  class,  that  if  I  could 
only  go  to  work  in  that  industry  and  reform  it, 
that  I  should  be  doing  a  public  service:  that  I 
should  be  following  the  advice  of  the  college 
and  giving  moral  service.  But  I  realized  that 
I  should  have  to  train  myself  in  the  science  of 
ethics  and  morals;  the  history  of  economics  and 
the  deeper  things  of  social  science  in  order  to  re- 
form the  business  intelligently,  constructively 
and  profitably  to  myself  and  the  employees." 

"Oh,"  I  commented,  "you  want  to  make 
your  type  of  social  service  earn  money?  —  is 
not  that  an  unusual  sort  of  social  service?" 

Thurber  smiled  and  said: 

"It  does  sound  worldly,  especially  to  a  minis- 
ter, Priddy,  but  the  strange  thing  about  it  is, 
as  I  have  figured  it  out,  that  if  I  do  take  an 
educated,  intelligent,  thoroughly  scientific  in- 
terest in  my  employees,  and  manage  to  clean 
up  their  tenements,  their  morals  and  their 
minds  through  welfare  work,  I  shall,  in  the  same 
stroke,  be  increasing  their  loyalty  to  the  busi- 
ness, be  redoubling  their  efficiency,  be  pre- 
paring a  higher  grade  of  workman:  all  of  which 
will  increase  the  earnings  of  my  plant." 

"In  other  words,  Thurber,  you  are  going 
to  work  on  the  principle  that  humanity  and 
welfare  work  are  good  business  policy?" 

[337] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

"Yes,"  nodded  Thurber.  "If  you,  as  a 
minister,  were  phrasing  it  you  would  say,  '  God- 
liness is  profitable  in  all  things'  -  -  even  in  good 
industrial  management  —  to  mix  in  Shakspeare, 
it  is  'twice  blessed,  it  blesseth  him  that  giveth' 

-  the  employer  —  *  and  him  that  receiveth ' 
the  worker.     That's  what  I  call  'the  glimpse' 
and  you  may  imagine  how  eagerly  I  am  tugging 
at  the  strings  in  order  to  be  working  it  out 
practically." 

"But  it  may  turn  out  to  be  fine  theory: 
mere  dreaming,  Thurber?" 

"Oh  no,"  he  protested.  "Read  the  countless 
numbers  of  sociological  works  that  I  have  and 
follow  the  countless  numbers  of  experiments 
that  have  been  made  in  this  direction  and  you 
will  agree  that  it  is  the  most  sane  procedure." 

"College  has  meant  something  very  definite 
to  you,  then,  Thurber?" 

"I  should  say  it  had.  I  tell  you  I  believe  I 
understand,  now,  the  tremendous  suggestion 
that  lies  behind  the  college  emphasis  that  its 
students  stand  in  their  businesses  and  interests 
against  mere  commercialism  and  flood  them 
with  intelligent,  moral  service.  Besides,  think 
what  significance  lies  in  my  studies  now:  the 
whole  course  seems  bent  to  broaden  me  towards 
the  intelligent,  economical  use  of  human  beings: 
psychology  will  give  me  trained  insight,  a  course 
or  two  in  physiology  helps  me  to  understand 
the  limits  of  workingmen's  endurance  and  wide 

[338] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

reading  in  literature  will  aid  me  to  intelli- 
gently work  out  a  policy  of  self-culture  in  the 
workingmen's  libraries  I  shall  form.  Oh,  I 
have  come  to  realize  that  a  business  education 
is  a  thousand  times  more  than  learning  book- 
keeping, the  names  of  the  tools,  and  a  little 
mathematics  from  which  to  compute  wages.  It 
demands,  in  my  estimation,  the  broadest  college 
culture  and  I  mean  to  secure  it." 

"Just  the  antithesis  of  your  father's  theory," 
I  suggested. 

"Yes,  and  think,  too,  how  much  he  has  lost 
by  it.  You  would  understand  how  enthu- 
siastic I  am  about  it,  Priddy,  if  you  could  have 
one  glimpse  of  the  people  and  tenements  around 
father's  mill.  I  feel  that  right  there  is  my 
call." 

"I  know  something  about  the  waste,  the  riot 
and  the  ruin  that  have  followed  in  the  wake 
of  narrow-minded,  selfish,  uncultured  and  un- 
sympathetic manufacturers,  Thurber.  If  the 
college  only  manages  to  send  out  a  hundred 
thousand  graduates  filled  like  you  with  this 
spirit  of  humane  statesmanship,  what  a  revolu- 
tion would  take  place  in  labor  conditions!" 

"It  would  be  the  front  door  of  God's  kingdom, 
Priddy,"  affirmed  Thurber,  "sure  enough!" 

Throughout  that  year,  from  the  seriousness 
with  which  Thurber  asked  questions  in  his 
classes,  from  the  eagerness  with  which  he  was 
ready  to  talk  about  welfare  work,  from  the  dili- 

[339] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

gence  with  which  he  fastened  himself  to  the 
library  alcoves  marked:  Economics  and  Soci- 
ology, and  from  the  pervading  seriousness  of 
his  manner,  one  might  easily  have  guessed  that 
in  him  one  looked  on  a  youth  aflame  with  a 
consuming,  zealous  ambition  to  make  his 
stewardship  of  men  and  his  college  culture 
yield  the  highest  per  cent  of  moral  earnings. 
I  felt  proud  to  call  him  my  friend. 

Another  of  my  companions  during  the  senior 
year  was  "Quiet"  Sanderson,  the  student  who 
had  introduced  me  to  Quarles.  "Quiet"  was  one 
of  those  illogical  and  fanciful  appellations  in 
which  the  students  delighted,  and  was  paradoxi- 
cally twisted  from  Sanderson's  fluent  tendencies. 

Sanderson  occupied  a  corner  room  in  one  of 
the  newer  dormitories.  In  it  was  a  piano  on 
which  he  played  Beethoven  and  rag  time  with 
equal  ease.  The  mission  bookcase  was  topped 
by  a  very  large,  felt  college  streamer  and  a 
"perpetual  care"  sign,  which  in  his  Fresh- 
man wildness  he  had  taken  from  a  cemetery. 
As  he  was  a  literary  man  with  a  pronounced 
taste  for  Poe  and  the  French  short  story  writers, 
there  were  various  evidences  of  "atmosphere" 
in  the  orderings  of  the  room.  For  instance, 
some  old  swords,  which  might  have  been  dis- 
covered in  the  ruins  of  Troy,  but  which,  in  fact, 
were  clever  imitations  bought  for  a  song  in 
Boston,  hung  over  the  door.  A  Turkish  fez, 
which  Sanderson  would  wear  when  company 

[340] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

was  present,  usually  hung  from  the  clothes  post 
in  a  corner  of  the  room,  over  a  quaint,  full- 
length  lounging  robe  made  from  scarlet  cloth 
and  embroidered  with  Mohammed's  crescent. 
An  oriental  scent  lingered  on  those  habits  of 
dress;  a  scent  which  I  have  seen  Sanderson 
compound  from  barks  and  minerals  bought  at 
the  druggist's  and  of  which  he  would  never  give 
me  the  names.  When  he  held  a  spread  or  a 
meeting  of  any  sort,  Sanderson's  room  would  be 
thick  with  the  fumes  of  joss  which  he  kept 
burning  from  a  blue  Chinese  bowl.  If  any  one 
complained,  Sanderson  would  have  no  scruples 
in  telling  the  complainant  that  perhaps  the  smoke 
would  be  even  denser  and  more  sulphurous  in 
a  later  destination! 

It  was  fortunate  that  I  did  not  catch,  like 
some  insidious  fever,  Sanderson's  habit  of  pro- 
crastination, for  while  his  dreams  were  in  the 
present  tense,  real,  and  vivid,  his  deeds  lingered 
in  the  nebulous  future.  Thus,  one  night  while  he 
lounged  on  his  couch  wearing  his  fez,  he  informed 
me  that  he  had  the  plot  of  an  exciting  tale  that  a 
publisher  might  make  a  fortune  by.  There  was 
a  secret  staircase  in  the  first  chapter,  and  be- 
tween that  and  the  twenty-eighth  —  a  distance 
of  eight  thousand  words,  for  he  had  measured 
them  —  enough  blood  was  shed  in  the  numerous 
duels,  alley  encounters  and  small  riots  with  the 
watch,  to  stain  a  miniature  Waterloo. 

"What  are  you  wasting  your  time  with  those 
[3411 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

blood  and  thunder  yarns  for?"  I  exclaimed, 
for  the  utmost  frankness  was  the  rule  between 
us. 

"  Blood  and  thunder ! "  he  echoed.  "  Why,  it's 
thoroughly  exciting,  whatever  you  may  say 
about  it,  Priddy.  In  my  best  style,  too. 
Racy,  full  of  tender  sentiment  at  the  love 
passages,  and  written  with  an  iron  pen,  whose  tip 
was  flaming  hot!" 

"Let  me  see  this  epic  of  thunder  then."  I 
demanded.  "I  should  like  to  look  it  over." 

"Oh,"  yawned  Sanderson,  "I  haven't  had 
time  to  put  it  on  paper  —  yet.  I  have  my 
studies  you  know!" 

Thus  it  was  not  only  with  his  literary  dreams, 
but  also  with  his  studies.  He  never  seemed  to 
be  in  his  books,  but  I  knew  that  at  some  secret 
hour  he  must  work  hard,  for  his  recitations  were 
generally  brilliant. 

He  was  a  sly  fellow,  at  times,  especially  when 
he  chanced  to  be  back  with  work.  It  was  his 
habit  then  to  get  me  in  his  room,  when  he  would 
yawn  and  say: 

"Priddy,  what  did  the  professor  conclude 
about  that  Lochner  fellow?" 

Stephen  Lochner  was  one  of  the  Dutch 
painters  we  were  studying. 

I  would  tell  him  as  well  as  I  could.  Then  he 
would  drawl: 

"Uh,  I  didn't  follow  the  professor  at  all  when 
he  said  that  the  early  Dutch  school,  Van  Eyck 

[342] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

and  the  others  —  let's  see,  how  many  were 
there?" 

I  would  tell  him,  exactly,  with  names  and 
dates,  and  then  he  would  drawl: 

"Sure  you  got  them  all,  Priddy?" 

"Yes,  I  have." 

"I'll  bet  you're  grafting  the  course,  Priddy, 
and  haven't  been  near  the  references  in  the 
library,  eh?" 

"  Sanderson,  I've  got  every  note  of  importance, 
and  have  worked  up  every  single  picture!" 

Then  the  yawning  fellow  would  turn  over  to 
me,  lift  up  his  fez  in  the  politest  manner  and 
say,  with  his  endearing  smile: 

"Oh,  is  that  so!  Then  Priddy,  I  shan't  need 
to  bother  much  myself,  shall  I?  You  can  give 
me  some  fine  dope  on  the  course!" 

Seeing  that  I  was  caught,  there  was  no  way 
out  of  it  but  to  become  the  unofficial  tutor  to 
his  lazy  highness;  a  duty,  however,  which  was 
pleasant  enough,  for  we  had  so  many  things  in 
common.  There  was  a  sense  of  embarrassment, 
however,  in  the  fact  that  Sanderson  would  go 
into  the  examinations  of  the  course,  after  I  had 
prompted  him,  and  by  some  freak  of  the  angel 
of  Providence,  his  guardian  spirit,  he  would 
out-top  me  with  marks! 

One  Monday  morning  I  dropped  into  his 
room,  on  my  way  across  the  campus,  when  he 
came  from  his  bedroom  arrayed  in  his  bath-robe, 
for  he  had  been  oversleeping,  and  he  said  to  me, 

[343] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

* '  Congratulations ,  Priddy ! ' ' 

"What's  this  for?"  I  exclaimed. 

"For  the  honorable  winner  of  two  literary 
prizes!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Two?  "I  gasped. 

"Yes,  and  firsts,  my  friend!  I  want  to  get  in 
on  the  ground  floor  and  get  a  college  ice  on  the 
prize  money,"  he  smiled. 

"And  how  do  you  know  this?"  I  asked. 

"The  announcements  were  posted  Saturday, 
after  you  had  left,  Priddy." 

"Then  you  shall  have  the  treat,  Sanderson." 

The  two  prize  checks  —  beautifully  decorated 
with  the  college  seal  and  ornamental  borders  - 
were  used  to  pay  for  the  winter's  supply  of  wood, 
at  home,  and  to  clear  off  a  store  bill.  I  felt 
that  my  first  adventure  into  literature  had  amply 
repaid  me  in  fellowships,  discipline,  and  cash: 
a  well-rounded  reward. 

When  I  arrived  home,  for  the  long  summer 
vacation,  I  began  to  ride  over  the  hills  to  outly- 
ing farm-houses  in  a  canvass  of  fellowship  among 
my  parishioners,  whom  I  had  never  seen  in 
church.  My  bicycle  rides  exhausted  me  in  this 
work,  as  the  summer  was  excessively  hot.  Be- 
tween the  village  services,  on  Sundays,  I  trundled 
my  bicycle  up  a  long  hill  until  I  came  to  a  cross- 
road schoolhouse  to  \vhich  I  had  invited  the  iso- 
lated people,  for  services.  The  people  who  came 
to  this  service  would  not  sing,  so  that  part  of  the 
time  they  were  treated  to  vocal  solos  by  me,  to 

[344] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

which  I  had  to  play  my  own  accompaniment  on 
the  little  parlor  organ  I  had  secured.  As  my 
skill  on  the  organ  keys  was  limited  to  hymns  up 
to  the  limits  of  two  sharps  or  as  many  flats,  my 
repertory,  like  that  of  a  hand  organ,  was  easily 
exhausted.  But  the  people  seemed  thankful 
for  this  interruption  of  the  monotony  of  their 
back-road  life,  and  though  I  never  took  up  an 
offering  or  asked  them  to  do  anything  more  than 
attend  the  services,  which  they  did  with  increas- 
ing enthusiasm,  I  knew  from  their  thanks  and 
their  faces  that  it  had  been  a  profitable  venture, 
an  appreciated  service. 

But  the  strain  of  such  a  responsibility  in 
addition  to  my  college  work  was  bound  to  ruin 
my  health,  so  I  resolved  that  the  parish  should 
be  free  to  engage  a  permanent,  resident  pastor, 
and  to  that  end  I  resigned  and  sought  out  a  place 
nearer  the  college,  where  I  could  go  through 
the  next  year  as  a  pulpit  supply  and  have  my 
wife  with  me,  in  my  own  home,  near  the  college 
campus. 

My  new  parish,  which  I  visited  only  on  Sun- 
days, was  a  most  delightful  village,  where  an  un- 
usual number  of  interesting  people  made  their 
homes.  Though,  at  first  sight,  the  village  ap- 
peared an  isolated,  sleepy  place,  yet  a  plunge  into 
its  activities  and  a  catching  of  its  spirit  meant 
the  discovery  of  a  number  of  enterprising,  intel- 
lectual, and  social  efforts,  of  which  any  large 
community  would  have  been  proud. 

[345] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

There  was  a  village  nature  club.  This  club 
was  composed  entirely  of  the  townspeople,  yet 
one  of  the  members  had  been  the  co-author  with 
a  scientist  in  the  study  of  fresh-water  algae, 
another  member  had  made  an  exhaustive  study 
of  grasses  and  minerals  in  such  a  scientific 
manner  that  his  work  had  received  the  com- 
mendation of  the  state  botanist.  The  club  had 
expert  bird  students  and  a  butterfly  collector. 
Another  of  its  members  had  discovered  a  rare 
fern,  hitherto  never  found  east  of  the  Mississippi. 
The  members  of  this  club,  surrounded  as  they 
were  by  the  riches  of  summer  and  winter  beauty, 
lived  in  a  glorious  world  of  adventure.  When 
one  family  drove  home,  up  the  long  road  to  its 
pine-groves  and  isolated  farm-house,  it  counted 
the  varieties  of  flowers  growing  by  the  wayside 
and  made  a  report  of  great  interest  to  the  other 
members  of  the  society.  Another  member 
watched  the  stars  and  gave  reports  on  the  newer 
astronomical  happenings. 

Then,  too,  such  intellectual  interests  reacted 
upon  the  social  life  of  the  little  community,  and 
a  tennis  court  for  the  boys,  clubs  and  sports  for 
the  girls,  village  improvement  undertakings, 
and  very  interesting  and  rare  lectures  through 
the  long  winter,  were  the  rule,  backefl  by  trained, 
interested  people.  This  type  of  community, 
also,  made  the  church  a  very  desirable  and 
interesting  one,  and  made  it  easier  for  me  to  be 
away  from  Sunday  to  Sunday,  for  the  social 

[346] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

concerns  were  certain  to  go  on  under  efficient 
and  responsible  management. 

Meanwhile,  my  wife  and  I  had  brought  our 
little  boy  to  the  college  town,  and  had  estab- 
lished ourselves  in  three  rooms  under  the  roof 
of  a  very  tiny  cottage.  Though  we  had  our 
dining-table  near  the  kitchen  stove  and  were 
otherwise  crowded  almost  to  discomfort,  yet 
the  last  year  of  my  educational  career  meant 
less  anxiety  and  more  inspiration  because  I 
could  have  my  home  in  the  midst  of  it. 


[347] 


Chapter  XXX VI L  Teiresias^ 
the  Blind  Prophet,  and  Squeem, 
the  Student  in  the  Back-waters  of 
College  Life.  A  Night  of  Grim 
Fate 

ONE  winter  afternoon  as  I  approached 
Quarles'  room,  to  take  him  for  a 
walk,  I  heard  a  loud  voice  raised  in 
angry  altercation,  as  I  thought.     I 
paused  on  the  dormitory  stairs,  and 
there  came  to  my  ears  the  blind  student's  voice, 
raised  high,  as  if  he  were  spitting  fire.     I  hurried 
to  his  door  and  entered  the  room  to  see  what 
the  quarrel  between  my  friend  and   his  enemy 
could  be. 

"Priddy,  sit  down!"  quoth  Quarles,  pausing 
in  his  strange  heat  of  jargon.  "Listen,"  and 
then,  standing  in  the  center  of  the  room,  he 
declaimed  this  strange  sounding  sentence: 

"Eipo  ti  deta  kail,  in  orgitze  pleon!"  and 
attended  it  with  a  fierce  and  angry  thrust  of 
his  fist,  as  if  he  were  thrusting  red-hot  bolts 
down  the  unwilling  throat  of  a  helpless  foe. 

[348J 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"Well,  of  all  the  strange  jumbles,  Quarles!" 
I  exclaimed,  "what  is  the  baby  talk,  please?" 

"  Soo  de  athlios  ge  taut  oneiditzon,  a  soi  oudeis 
os  ouxi  tond  oneidiei  taxi!"  he  continued,  scowl- 
ing frightfully  and  staring  with  his  expression- 
less eyes  as  if  he  would  have  his  stored  up 
wrath  break  through  to  flash  like  fierce 
lightning  on  the  pride  of  his  unseen  opponent. 

"Taxi?"  I  mused,  "that  means  automobile 
riding  at  ten  dollars  a  minute  —  what  is  the 
rest?" 

"It's  Greek,"  he  explained,  sitting  down.  "I 
am  the  blind  Prophet  Teiresias,  in  the  Greek 
drama  'King  CEdipus,'  to  be  given  by  the  col- 
lege. Let  me  translate!" 

He  sprang  to  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and,  in 
English,  attended  by  the  same  angry  gestures, 
he  declaimed  to  the  scoffing  King  whom  he  was 
warning : 

"Shall  I  speak  something  more,  to  feed  thy 
wrath?'"  and  then  he  paused  to  explain,  "and 
when  you  called  it  baby  talk,  I  recited  the  line 
which  I  am  to  use  when  the  King  slanders  me 
for  being  blind,  'O  miserable  reproach,  which 
all  who  now  behold  thee,  soon  shall  thunder 
forth  on  thee!'  and,"  went  on  Quarles,  "you  are 
to  know,  if  you  do  not  know  it  now,  how  that 
later  the  King  does  blind  himself  with  hot  irons 
and  f  ulfils  the  prophecy  I  hurl  at  his  coward  lips ! " 

"  Horrible,  it  must  be ! "  I  shuddered.  "  What 
a  dark  tragedy  to  lighten  a  college  stage!" 

[3491 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"But,"  mused  Quarles,  "think  of  the  achieve- 
ment, in  these  days,  when  the  college  critics 
are  charging  the  college  with  immersing  itself 
in  practical  concerns  so  as  to  forego  the  classics. 
My  work  is  cut  out  for  me,  Priddy,"  he  went 
on.  "If  they  are  to  have  a  real  blind  man  for 
Teiresias,  they  must  also  have  fair  acting  of  the 
lines,  for  it  is  all  to  be  given  in  Greek,  not  a 
word  of  English;  for  barbarians  like  you,  who  will 
probably  be  mystified,  there  will  be  an  English 
line-for-line  translation." 

"Oh,"  I  retorted,  "I  have  studied  some  Greek. 
I  have  read  the  New  Testament!" 

Quarles  laughed, 

"That  is  only  the  introduction  to  Greek. 
Listen!" 

He  stood  before  me  and  recited  the  fluid, 
rounded,  Greek  lines  of  the  blind  Prophet,  as 
he  leaves  the  King, 

" '  Ere  I  depart,  I  will  declare  the  word 

For  which  I  came,  not  daunted  by  thy  frown. 
Thou  hast  no  power  to  ruin  me.' " 

"You  will  have  to  have  a  clear  brain  for  the 
storing  of  so  much  pure,  classic  speech,  Quarles," 
I  said.  "Come  out  for  a  walk  over  the  four- 
mile  road  with  me  and  you  may  talk  King 
(Edipus  to  me  till  I  faint!"' 

So,  arm  in  arm,  over  the  ruts  of  the  four-mile 
road,  which  first  took  us  up  a  steep  hill  and  then 
around  to  the  west  through  some  dark,  cool 
woods,  the  blind  student  and  I  walked,  and 

[350J 


So  ARM  IN  ARM  THE  BLIND  STUDENT  AND  I  WALKED 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

talked  of  the  Greek  tragedy  in  which  he  was  to 
play  so  realistic  a  part. 

On  our  way  back,  as  we  neared  the  campus, 
Quarles  said: 

"Priddy,    have    you    ever    met    'Squeem' 
Hirshey?     I've  got  to  see  him  before  supper, 
if  you'll  take  me  to  him.     He's  one  of  the  old 
men  of  the  chorus,  in  the  play,  and  wants  me  to 
help  him  with  pronunciation." 

"No,  I  haven't  met  him,"  I  said. 

"A  poor  Georgian,"  explained  Quarles,  "lives 
in  a  stuffy  bit  of  a  room  with  an  Irish  family, 
down  at  The  Alley;  you  know  where  that  is, 
of  course." 

So  while  we  walked  in  the  direction  of 
"Squeem's"  lodging,  Quarles  gave  me  full 
information  about  this  student,  one  who  lived 
in  the  back-waters  of  college  life. 

"In  some  unaccountable  way,"  said  Quarles, 
"Squeem  managed  to  get  a  decent  preparatory 
education  in  the  South,  in  a  place  where  most  of 
the  people  lived  in  huts.  Missionary  education, 
I  think.  However,  he  came  here,  passed  entrance 
exams  all  right,  and  was  awarded  a  couple  of 
scholarships  that  bring  him  in  about  a  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  a  year.  He  tells  me  that  he 
manages  to  get  enough  work  to  support  him: 
that  he  earns  his  room  rent  with  the  Gibboneys 
by  doing  chores,  though  what  chores  such  a  poor 
family  can  have  for  him  to  perform,  I  cannot 
understand.  He  cooks  his  own  meals  on  an 

[351] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

oil  stove,  and,  for  that  purpose  tries  never  to  go 
over  seventy -five  cents  a  week  for  his  food. 
As  for  clothes,  well  —  he  patronizes  'Eddie', 
the  old  clothes-man,  and  manages  to  get  cast- 
off  shoes  and  clothes  at  ridiculously  low  prices. 
A  suit  for  four  dollars  and  a  decent  pair  of  shoes, 
not  much  worn,  for  fifty  cents!" 

"I  must  have  seen  him,"  I  explained,  "but 
of  course,  I  cannot  place  the  name.  A  queer 
one,  too;  reminds  one  of  Dickens'  Squeers,  the 
ugly  schoolmaster." 

Quarles  smiled. 

"That  name  was  tacked  on  a  year  ago, 
when  he  was  a  Freshman.  It  seems  that  he 
kept  himself  to  his  room  and  never  mixed  in 
things,  sort  of  a  timid,  bashful  chap,  but  full 
of  energy  when  it  comes  to  study.  A  down-at- 
the-heels  fellow,  I  have  heard  him  called.  Well, 
he  was  squeamish  about  everything,  and  it  was 
natural  for  the  Freshies  to  tack  him  with 
'Squeem'  and  by  that  name  he  will  always  be 
known  to  the  future  generations  of  college 
men." 

"Here's  the  alley!"  I  announced,  after  a  few 
minutes  more  of  talk.  We  had  passed  down  an 
outlying  road  where,  on  the  very  outskirts  of 
the  village,  stood  a  row  of  cheap  tenements. 
Between  these,  at  an  angle,  lay  an  alley  filled 
with  ashes,  tin  cans  and  broken  bottles.  This 
alley  led  up  to  two  ill-looking  shanties,  so  small 
that  by  comparison  with  the  houses  farther  in 

[352] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

the  town  they  seemed  no  more  than  half -ruined 
doll  houses. 

"It's  the  blackest  house,"  whispered  my 
companion.  "Go  around  to  the  rear.  His 
room  is  up  the  back  stairs." 

As  we  rounded  the  black  shanty  the  sound  of 
gurgling  and  churning  reached  our  ears,  and  then, 
back  of  a  line  of  flapping,  wet  clothes,  we  came 
on  a  middle-sized,  but  excessively  gaunt  youth, 
wearing  an  oil-cloth  apron,  such  as  we  wore  in 
the  chemistry  classes  when  we  performed  experi- 
ments, with  a  bib  that  fitted  close  to  his  neck. 
He  wore  under  it  a  ragged,  red  sweater,  and  was 
churning  a  washing  machine  full  of  clothes, 
while,  at  his  back,  a  stout,  red-faced  Irish- 
woman was  engaged  in  taking  clothes  from  a 
basket  and  hanging  them  on  lines.  Hanging 
from  a  row  of  nails  on  the  outside  of  the  house 
were  all  shades  and  colors  of  students'  laundry 
bags.  Underneath  them,  wriggling  in  a  broken 
and  dirty  clothes  basket,  lay  a  six-months-old 
baby,  sucking  a  soiled  thumb  and  apparently 
finding  it  nourishing. 

"Hello,  Quarles!"  greeted  the  washerman,  in 
great  embarrassment  at  our  discovery  of  him, 
"I  didn't  expect  you!"  A  Southern  drawl  was 
evident  in  his  speech.  He  was  about  to  take 
off  his  apron,  when  the  Irishwoman,  throwing 
a  frown  of  dissatisfaction  in  my  direction, 
growled : 

"Mister  Hirshey,  an'  don't  you  be  lavin', 
[353] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

mind  you.  Them  things've  got  to  be  done. 
You  can  talk  while  you  work;  but  work  you 
must,  and  the  young  gentlemen  can  go  hang  till 
you've  time,  if  they  care!" 

Squeem's  waxen  cheeks,  which  seemed  before 
to  have  no  signs  of  blood  about  them,  flushed, 
and  he  said,  apologetically,  as  he  resumed  his 
churning, 

"Only  ten  minutes  more,  Quarles.  We  can 
talk,  and  then  we  can  go  to  the  room." 

I  was  introduced  to  the  student  and  recog- 
nized in  him  the  one  whom  I  had  passed  on  the 
campus,  time  and  time  again  in  the  winter, 
with  his  shivering  body  fitted  to  ill-measured 
clothes,  and  his  goose-fleshed  wrists  and  un- 
gloved hands  hanging  like  dead  weights  from 
below  his  coat  sleeves. 

Ten  minutes  later,  after  I  had  watched  the 
Southerner  dip  out  the  dripping  mass  of  laundry 
and  put  it  through  the  wTinger,  we  w^ere  con- 
ducted into  the  dark  kitchen  with  its  odor  of 
cabbage,  and  ascended  by  a  wabbly  stairway 
to  the  loft,  one  half  of  which  was  given  to 
Squeems  for  his  abode.  A  greasy,  sour  odor 
of  cooking  permeated  the  room.  It  was  lighted 
by  two  narrow  panes  of  glass  fitted  to  a  make- 
shift frame,  and  covered  by  a  curtain  of  imita- 
tion tapestry,  with  the  design  of  a  red  Swiss 
house  hah*  buried  amid  gray  bushes  and  a  row 
of  stiff,  brown  poplars.  A  cot  bed  stood  in  a 
corner  with  a  bundle  of  warm  quilts  in  con- 

[354] 


fusion  on  it,  for  evidently  our  host  had  little 
skill  in  his  housekeeping.  A  packing  case,  on 
end,  with  the  open  side  towards  us,  had  been 
skilfully  transformed  into  book  shelf,  storage 
place  and  desk.  A  short  row  of  text  books  was 
ranged  on  the  packing  case.  Besides  a  kitchen 
chair  there  was  no  other  seat,  save  a  tin-covered 
trunk  from  which  Squeem  had  to  take  a  few 
dishes,  an  oil  stove  and  a  bread  tin,  —  his 
dining  apparatus,  —  before  it  could  be  utilized 
for  a  seat. 

The  following  half  hour  was  spent  by  Quarles 
and  the  Southerner  in  the  pronunciation,  the 
translation,  and  oratorical  interpretation,  not 
only  of  the  chorus  part  of  the  play,  which  would 
be  sung,  but  of  the  Blind  Prophet's  thrilling 
lines,  which  Quarles  recited  before  Squeem  with 
even  more  spirit  than  he  had  to  me,  for,  he 
explained,  as  we  left  the  house: 

"That  poor  fellow  may  be  in  the  back-waters 
of  college,  but  he's  got  a  really  excellent  mind. 
It  wouldn't  surprise  me  to  see  him  come  near 
to  leading  his  class  in  scholarship.  I  like  him  — 
that  Squeem,"  and  then  my  blind  companion 
quoted,  with  great  impressiveness,  "Grand, 
gloomy,  and  peculiar,  he  sat  upon  his  throne,  a 
sceptred  hermit,  wrapped  in  the  solitude  of  his 
.  .  .  originality.' ' 

Then  the  night  of  the  Greek  play  arrived  in 
which  Quarles  and  his  strange  friend  were  to 
appear. 

[355] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

My  wife  and  I  sat  in  the  gallery,  in  Assembly 
Hall,  amongst  the  vast  throng  of  spectators. 

A  dark,  green  curtain  covered  the  stage.  The 
white  interior  of  the  hall,  with  soaring  ceiling 
panels,  dotted  with  flaming  rows  of  electric  lights, 
the  paintings  on  the  gallery  walls  of  presidents 
and  benefactors  of  the  college,  the  ushers  in 
evening  dress,  fine,  manly  samples  of  youth, 
the  well-dressed  women  in  their  opera  costumes : 
all  this  was  a  glorious  show  to  look  upon,  in  itself. 
But  when  a  group  of  gowned  students  took  their 
places,  in  chairs,  near  the  stage,  and  were  fol- 
lowed by  the  orchestra,  and  the  musical  direc- 
tor, —  then  the  programs  fluttered,  expectantly, 
even  in  the  hands  of  the  professors  and  invited 
guests  from  other  colleges,  who  had  come  to 
enjoy  the  literary  treat  of  the  much-heralded 
play. 

The  leader,  with  a  gentle  tap  on  his  rack, 
brought  the  musicians  into  position.  A  stroke 
of  the  wand  in  the  air,  and  the  instruments  began 
with  the  introductory  theme,  a  droning  chant, 
with  wild  whisperings  in  the  background,  as  the 
violins  tried  to  paint  for  our  senses  the  chatter 
of  the  fierce  Fates  that  were  to  hound  King 
(Edipus  to  his  horrid  death,  in  payment  to  their 
stern  laws  for  his  unconscious  sin. 

Then,  as  the  haunting  prelude  paused  on  a 
wailing  minor,  as  if  to  tell  us  that  forever  and 
forever  man's  despair  should  continue  —  under 
the  rule  of  the  Fates,  the  lights  in  the  hall  were 

[356] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

darkened,  amidst  a  silence.  There  was  a  pause, 
and  then,  as  the  heavy  curtains  were  drawn  aside 
while  the  drums  crashed  forth  a  suggestion  of 
impending  strife,  we  looked  upon  a  marvelous 
palace  front  in  ancient  Boeotian  Thebes.  Aus- 
tere gloom,  the  fluted,  pillared  doorway  with 
the  brazen  door  bespoke,  though  the  sky  was 
tinted  as  if  for  a  sunrise,  or  sunset.  Then  before 
our  eyes,  in  that  ancient  world  was  unfolded  the 
grim  lesson  that  even  unconscious  sin  must  pay 
at  last  the  uttermost  farthing. 

Quarles,  transformed  into  a  bearded,  led 
prophet,  spake  his  lines  with  heart-ringing 
pathos.  But  as  for  "Squeem"  among  the 
bearded  men,  who  chanted  their  parrotish 
gossip,  I  could  not  distinguish  him. 

Heaps  on  heaps  of  color  were  massed  on  the 
stage,  with  a  studied  effort  to  inflame  the  imag- 
inations of  the  audience.  When  it  seemed  that 
the  finest  effects  of  grouping  and  harmonies 
of  color  had  been  obtained,  other  actors  would 
suddenly  appear  and  make  the  splendor  of  the 
setting  pass  belief. 

Word  by  word,  gesture  by  gesture,  chant  by 
chant,  we  followed  the  dismal  but  dramatic 
tale  from  its  air  of  glory  and  freedom  into  the 
darker  shadows  of  dread  which  Teiresias  fore- 
told. Moods  of  king  and  queen,  of  the  old 
men  who  stood  by  the  temple,  of  the  priest  and 
the  shepherd  changed  slowly  and  steadily  from 
scoffing  to  belief,  from  belief  to  alarm,  from 

[357] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

alarm  to  fear,  from  fear  to  resistance,  from  re- 
sistance to  submission,  from  submission  to  final 
reparation.  Woven  into  the  shudderings  of  the 
old  men,  witnesses  of  death  and  grewsome 
penalties,  were  the  musical  whisperings,  to  keep 
our  minds  upon  the  unseen  spirits  of  the  venge- 
ful gods  who  were  directing  the  grim  tragedy 
until  all  the  sobs  that  men  and  women  could 
give  were  ended,  until  the  last  dreg  of  a  tear 
remained,  and  until  only  the  merest  whisper  of 
a  cry  could  sound  in  the  chambers  of  a  suffering 
heart! 

We  went  into  the  night,  from  it,  feeling  that 
our  hearts  had  been  smitten  heavy  blows,  that 
our  life  had  fastened  itself  to  leaden  anchors. 
The  terrible  reality,  the  magnificence  of  Fate, 
the  classic  splendor  of  sufferings  in  epic  girth 
had  been  staged  before  us. 

Teiresias*  words  hung  in  the  air,  everywhere, 
even  under  the  dark  sky  outside: 

"O  miserable  reproach!  which  shall  soon 
Thunder  forth  on  thee!" 


[358] 


Chapter     XXXFIIL        How 

Ellis,  the  Captain,  Taught  me  the 
Spirit  of  Contest.  I  Turn  Pam- 
phleteer on  Behalf  of  Scholarship. 
But  Find  from  Garvin  that 
Scholarship  and  Education  may  be 
Separate  Matters.  Account  of  a 
"Truly  Classic  Event,  which  Makes 
the  Students  Study  Color  Schemes 
and  Gives  us  a  Chance  to  Appear 
in  Gowns 

ONE  afternoon  I  was  sitting  on  the 
senior  fence,  watching  two  fraternity 
teams  wage  a  contest  in  baseball, 
when  I  saw  Ellis,  the  football  cap- 
tain approaching,  with  his  finger 
upraised  to  draw  my  attention. 

Ellis  was  an  impressive  fellow  with  his  tower- 
[359] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

ing  shoulders,  oak-like  limbs,  and  ruddy  cheeks. 
In  his  flannels,  tan  oxfords,  and  varsity  cap  he 
spelled  in  large  capitals,  "Exercise."  For  Ellis 
was  known  preeminently,  in  the  athletic  world, 
as  one  of  the  year's  gods  who  sit  on  the  pin- 
nacle of  Olympus,  the  revered  of  freshmen,  the 
applauded  of  sophomores,  and  the  envied  of 
fellow  seniors.  By  the  newspapers  he  was 
heralded  as  the  best  player  of  football  in  his 
position  in  all  America.  His  name,  through  the 
years  of  his  playing,  when  he  appeared  with  nose 
guard  and  canvas  suit,  had  been  on  the  lips 
of  admiring  multitudes.  His  photographs, 
showing  him  catching  a  football,  or  in  pose  for 
a  scramble,  had  been  spread  on  many  city 
papers  that  year. 

In  the  college,  more  than  in  the  outside  wrorld, 
Ellis'  fame  had  won  the  highest  respect.  He 
was  the  marked  man:  marked  for  friendships, 
for  class  honors,  and  for  the  respect  of  the 
faculty.  A  freshman,  given  the  merest  smile  or 
word  by  Ellis,  immediately  ran  to  his  room  and 
wrote  a  burning  letter  about  it  to  his  mother 
or  his  sister.  The  fraternities  and  senior  so- 
cieties had  vied  with  one  another  to  secure  him 
for  a  comrade.  He  was  the  college  "boss"  in 
a  good  sense,  for  if  a  group  of  excited  students 
broke  the  public  peace,  by  an  unruly  demonstra- 
tion before  the  town  jail,  where  one  of  the 
students  had  been  immolated  for  throwing  a 
snowball  at  the  village  justice,  it  was  Ellis  who 

[360] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

jumped  on  a  flour  barrel,  which  he  had  ordered 
brought  from  the  back  door  of  a  nearby  grocery, 
and  at  a  word,  commanded  the  incipient  riot 
to  break  up;  which  it  did  without  a  murmur. 

"Take  a  walk,  Priddy?"  asked  Ellis,  as  he 
drew  near. 

"Certainly,"  I  said,  jumping  from  my  perch 
and  measuring  my  stride  to  his. 

"Priddy,"  he  said,  "you  know  about  the 
Bristow  Oratorical  Prize  for  seniors?" 

"Yes." 

"The  trials  come  off  soon.  Why  don't  you 
go  into  it?" 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  it,"  I  admitted.  "Be- 
sides, I  don't  think  it  would  be  wise.  I  am  no 
orator;  I  mean  that  I  do  not  use  finished  ges- 
tures, and  my  throat  trouble  has  taken  the 
spirit  from  my  voice.  In  addition  to  that, 
Ellis,  when  one  is  used  to  the  pulpit,  it  is  really 
a  different  proposition  to  speak  in  an  exhibition." 

"  But  you  will  have  a  chance  with  the  literary 
side.  That  counts  one  half,"  persisted  Ellis. 

"Now  look  here,"  I  smiled,  turning  on  him, 
suddenly,  "why  don't  you  go  into  it?" 

"I  will,  Priddy.     I  certainly  will!" 

"You've  made  your  record  in  football,  and 
you  ought  to  go  into  this  oratorical  contest, 
Ellis." 

"I'm  going  into  it,"  he  replied,  "not  so  much 
for  the  mere  idea  of  trying  for  the  prize,  but 
for  a  purpose." 

[361] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

"What's  that?" 

"Well,  Priddy,"  he  continued,  seriously, 
"I've  been  up  against  it  ever  since  I  indulged 
in  sports.  It  has  eaten  up  much  of  my  time, 
and  there  have  been  days  and  days  when  the 
grind  of  training  and  practise  and  of  having  to 
go  to  bed  early,  and  all  that,  have  been  wearing 
and  uninspiring.  If  it  hadn't  been  that  I  felt 
that  I  was  maintaining  the  honor  of  the  college 
by  my  playing,  I  should  have  quit  the  game  long 
ago.  Well,  there  are  a  lot  of  folks  that  think  of 
college  athletics  as  a  waste  of  the  student's 
time  and  as  a  feature  of  college  life  not  good  in 
itself,  but  which  must  be  endured,  if  men  are 
to  be  won  to  college.  Of  course  you  know  that's 
not  the  truth;  at  least  in  this  place." 

"Of  course  it's  not  so,"  I  insisted,  just  as 
earnestly.  "College  sports  are  the  cleanest, 
most  honorable  of  sports.  They  teach  the 
students  in  this  college  to  be  manly  in  losing, 
to  hold  their  tongues  when  the  visiting  team 
makes  a  fumble,  and  to  cheer  one  for  the  other. 
It's  so  different  from  the  national  game,  out- 
side of  the  college,  where  the  crowds  in  the 
bleachers  throw  pop  bottles  at  the  umpire, 
insult  the  players,  and  nag  one  another  bitterly. 
Our  college  sports  teach  the  students  moral 
control  and  self-restraint." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  Priddy," 
agreed  Ellis,  warmly.  "If  the  game  had  been 
otherwise,  I  would  not  have  wasted  my  time 

[362] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

with  it.  Well,  there  are  a  lot  of  folks,  even  in 
college,"  he  continued,  "who  really  think  that 
because  a  man  makes  good  on  a  football  team 
that  he's  not  capable  with  his  studies,  or  with 
the  literary  features  of  the  college." 

"There  again,"  I  agreed,  "they  don't  know 
all  the  facts.  Think  of  the  fellows  on  your 
team,  this  year.  Several  of  your  best  players 
are  making  excellent  records  in  class  work." 
I  enumerated  three  of  the  brightest  players  who 
had  maintained  a  rank  of  over  eighty-five,  in 
spite  of  the  great  amount  of  time  given  to 
sports. 

"Yes,  Priddy,"  replied  Ellis,  "that's  so,  but 
the  public  at  large  don't  think  of  it  in  that  way. 
Well,  that  is  why  I  want  to  go  into  the  oratorical 
contest;  just  to  show  folks  that  a  fellow  inter- 
ested in  athletics  is  also  able  to  manifest  an 
interest  in  literary  matters!" 

"Good!"  I  exclaimed,  won  by  his  sincere 
earnestness.  "But  why  do  you  want  me  to  go 
in,  too,  as  a  competitor?  I  should  think  you 
wouldn't  care  to  increase  the  competition, 
merely  as  a  matter  of  self-interest." 

"Oh,"  he  laughed,  "the  more,  the  merrier. 
I  thought  you  ought  to  go  in,  too,  for  I  think 
you  would  stand  a  good  chance,  Priddy." 

Finally  I  agreed  to  go  in  with  him.  On  the 
walk  we  advised  about  subjects  and  the  next 
day  Ellis  came  to  my  room  for  some  material 
I  had  promised  him  on  his  proposed  theme. 

[363] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

Then  began  the  strangest  preparation  for  a 
contest  in  which  I  had  ever  indulged.  We  con- 
ferred with  one  another  about  the  points  we 
were  to  make,  and  prodded  one  another  on,  when 
either  became  slothful.  Finally,  when  our 
speeches  were  memorized,  we  took  afternoon 
walks  into  a  field  where  we  shaped  our  orations 
into  some  definite  spoken  form  before  each 
other.  Ellis  would  hear  me  through,  suggest 
how  this  gesture  and  that  thought  might  be 
improved.  Then  I  would  criticize  him  in  the 
same  way.  We  hid  nothing  from  one  another, 
though  we  were  to  be  rivals  on  the  platform. 
He  knew  every  turn  of  my  speech  and  I  knew 
every  turn  of  his.  He  added  force  to  mine 
by  thinking  out  for  me  a  new  analogy  that  I 
could  insert  at  a  weak  part.  I  altered  a  mis- 
quotation in  his  which  would  have  lost  him  a 
point.  It  was  an  inspiring  experience  for  me. 
I  was  witnessing,  in  Ellis,  a  sportsmanship  of 
which  there  could  be  no  more  refined  example. 
I  did  not  wonder,  then,  at  the  praise  the  college 
had  given  him. 

But  this  was  not  all,  for  on  the  afternoon 
when  the  trials  took  place,  —  in  the  big,  dim 
room  of  empty  seats,  with  a  few  judges  scattered 
lonesomely  about,  —  as  I  took  my  turn  and  was 
walking  to  the  platform,  I  felt  a  hearty  clap  on 
the  shoulder  and  heard  Ellis  whisper,  "Good 
luck  to  you,  Priddy!"  exactly  the  way  in  which 
he  had  encouraged  his  men  in  the  big  football 

[364] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

contests.  I  walked  to  the  platform  thrilled 
through  by  the  magnificence  of  Ellis*  sporting 
spirit.  I  felt  that  if  any  other  man  won,  it 
should  be  Ellis. 

I  did  not  do  well  with  my  oration.  I  was 
marked  down.  Ellis'  turn  came.  I  watched 
him,  admiringly,  as  he  strode  to  the  platform 
in  his  masterful  way.  His  gestures,  over  which 
we  had  worked  with  patience,  were  still  undis- 
ciplined, and  at  times  his  voice  thundered  too 
much.  But  he  came  down  with  the  conscious- 
ness of  having  done  his  best.  He  was  declared 
eligible  for  the  final  contest. 

Later,  when  the  final  contest  took  place, 
Ellis,  who  had  gone  into  it  with  the  loftiest  ideal 
of  all  the  contestants,  had  the  thrill  of  knowing 
that  he  was  the  winner  of  the  prize.  He  had 
won  both  sides  of  the  medal,  the  athletic  and 
literary. 

"At  least,"  he  said  to  me,  in  bashful  comment 
on  his  victory,  "I  think  that  some  folks  will  be 
persuaded  that  a  football  man  may  have  some 
interest  in  scholarship." 

Garvin,  a  fellow  Senior,  illustrates  another 
phase  of  college  life  and  thought.  He  was  a 
clever  individual  and  one  of  the  editors  of  the 
college  newspaper.  His  "den,"  as  he  loved 
to  term  his  narrow  room  in  Wise  Hall,  had  been 
made  to  resemble  as  much  as  possible  an  edi- 
torial sanctum.  Galley  proofs,  daubed  black 
with  corrections,  revisions  and  proof  marks, 

[365] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

had  been  hung  over  his  desk,  as  if  to  forever 
remind  him  that  the  true  function  of  an  editor 
is  revision,  as  it  is  the  true  function  of  life. 
Original  artists'  drawings,  in  charcoal,  pen  and 
ink  and  pencil,  were  mixed  in  with  Gibson  Girl 
sketches  on  the  walls.  Three  samples  of  "the 
worst  contributions  ever  sent  into  the  paper" 
were  framed  in  passe  partout  and  hung  over  the 
brick  of  the  fireplace  where  the  curious  might 
read  them;  one  was  a  Freshman  poem  whose 
theme  had  never  been  understood  and  for  the 
interpretation  of  which  Garvin  had  a  standing 
offer  of  a  box  of  cigars.  The  "poem"  said 
something  about  "the  ancient  cow,  sitting 
munchingly  on  the  steep  broadside  of  green, 
fertile  country,"  and  then  went  on  to  irrel- 
evantly bring  in  various  other  cattle,  scenes, 
and  people  in  such  an  unexplained  matter-of- 
fact  way  that  the  mind  was  in  a  whirl  at  the 
end.  The  other  two  contributions  were  at- 
tempts at  stories,  and  judged  from  the  first 
pages  of  manuscript  exhibited,  ended  in  being 
nothing  more  than  attempts. 

I  had  visited  Garvin  to  speak  on  a  matter  to 
which  I  was  giving  considerable  thought  at  the 
time:  the  curious  disparagement  of  scholarship 
by  so  many  of  the  students.  I  had  even  gone  to 
the  pains  of  having  published  in  Garvin's  paper 
my  undergraduate  protest  against  the  univer- 
sal tendency  to  despise  the  "plugger"  and  to 
esteem  the  "grafter";  two  terms  which  marked 

[366] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

the  antipodes  of  scholarship.  My  article,  en- 
titled, "On  the  Spirit  of  Work  in  College,"  had 
been  printed  and  followed  by  a  parody,  written 
by  an  unknown  student  and  entitled:  "Priddy 
Has  A  Grouch,"  in  which  the  writer  had  openly 
given  all  the  honors  of  the  college  to  the  student 
who  refrained  from  seeking  a  salutatory,  vying 
with  his  classmates  for  the  valedictory  or  has- 
tening after  academic  honors  of  whatever  sort. 

"Blatant  heresy!"  I  announced,  pointing  out 
the  anonymous  article. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Garvin.  "I 
rather  like  it!" 

I  regarded  him  in  astonishment  for  a  moment 
and  then  protested, 

"But  think  of  it,  man!  Denouncing  scholar- 
ship! A  student  in  a  college  denouncing  the 
very  charter  of  the  college.  It's  incredible: 
audacious  and  heretical:  undermining  the  very 
foundations  of  the  college!  And  to  think  that 
you,  an  editor,  interested  in  culture  and  educa- 
tion, support  such  a  paradox.  You  ought  to 
be  tortured  in  a  Smithfield  fire  or  have  your 
thumbs  twisted  with  Inquisition  screws!" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!"  smiled  Garvin.  "I'm 
not  the  only  one  that  scoffs  somewhat  at  the 
scholars:  there  are  hundreds  of  us  on  the 
campus:  hundreds  of  us." 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "sour  grapes,  probably." 

"Now  look  here,  Priddy.  I'm  no  loafer. 
You  know  me.  I  believe  in  education  or  I 

[367] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

would  not  be  spending  my  four  years  here. 
If  I  were  to  put  all  my  time  in  study:  the  time 
which  I  invest  in  my  editor's  duty,  for  instance, 
and  in  the  mandolin  club,  I  think  there  is  in  me 
a  potential  honor  man  at  least,  even  as  there 
is  in  Sanderson  a  potential  valedictorian,  and 
in  Ellis  a  potential  Phi  Beta  Kappa  (if  he  left 
off  athletics),  and  in  Forrest  a  potential  magna, 
triple  X,  summa,  double-barrelled  cum  lauda 
if  he  didn't  put  so  much  effort  into  the  evening 
classes  for  the  Italian  laborers  down  at  the 
Reservoir.  But  the  truth  is  —  these  men,  like 
myself,  aren't  very  enthusiastic  about  high 
marks,  or  the  honors  that  high  marks  and  class 
rankings  bring  to  the  undergraduate." 

"No  wonder  the  professors  get  discouraged, 
Garvin.  It's  enough  to  make  the  college  founder 
place  dynamite  under  the  campus  and  blow  us 
to  kingdom  come!" 

Garvin's  eyes  twinkled  at  his  next  question. 

"Hear  about  Scholarship  Night,  Priddy?  I 
know  you  weren't  there  for  you  went  home 
that  day." 

"Hear  about  it?"  I  gasped.  "I  should  say 
I  had.  They  say  that  there  was  about  as  much 
enthusiasm  over  the  reading  of  the  honor  roll 
that  night,  in  assembly  hall,  before  the  students 
and  invited  guests,  as  there  is  enthusiasm  over 
-  well,  say  a  book  entitled,  'The  Thesaurus  of 
Diction  --or  Recent  Explorations  into  the 
Vocabulary  of  Monkeys.' ' 

[368] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"Enthusiasm!"  repeated  Garvin,  "it  was  ten 
miles  away  that  night.  Just  a  handful  of 
students,  lonesomely  huddled  in  the  first  few 
rows  of  seats  and  behind  them  a  lighted  vacancy. 
I  tell  you,  Priddy,  the  students  aren't  interested 
very  much  in  pure  scholarship:  even  many  of 
the  men  who  are  here  for  a  serious  purpose." 

"Then  why  do  they  come  here,  Garvin,  tell 
me  that?"  I  demanded. 

"For  an  education,  Priddy." 

"  But  how  can  they  secure  an  education  unless 
they  are  solicitous  about  scholarship,  Garvin?" 

"Oh,  I  see  what  is  the  matter,  Priddy.  You 
imagine  that  because  so  many  of  us  aren't 
interested  in  scholarship,  pure  scholarship, 
we  aren't  interested  in  education.  Education 
and  scholarship  are  two  very  different  things." 

"How  do  you  argue  that?" 

"You  have  the  old-fashioned  idea  of  a  col- 
lege," continued  Garvin. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"The  old  New  England  college:  the  repre- 
sentative college  of  olden  days,  injected  a  love 
of  books  and  the  wisdom  of  books  in  their  stu- 
dents: reams  of  the  classic  poets  and  prose 
writers:  encyclopaedic  furnishings  of  the  mind 
with  the  contents  of  a  few  good,  stimulating 
books.  Those  were  the  hey-days  of  pure 
scholarship.  They  have  existed  here:  but  we 
students,  today,  are  illustrations  of  an  evolu- 
tion in  educational  ideals,  even  if  most  of  us 

[369] 


THROUGH    THE   SCHOOL 

don't  seem  to  realize  it.  We  represent  the 
changed  temper  of  higher  education.  If  I  may 
phrase,  offhand,  my  idea  of  the  change,  —  it  is 
that  the  older  generation  considered  pure 
scholarship,  in  itself,  the  central  aim  of  a  college 
course,  and  to  an  ideal  of  that  sort,  Scholarship 
Nights,  Phi  Beta  Kappas,  and  all  such  educa- 
tional fashions  were  not  only  in  keeping  but  were 
producers  of  tremendous  enthusiasms.  On  the 
other  hand,  what  seems  to  me  to  lie  in  the  heart 
of  the  students  now  is  the  demand  for  scholar- 
ship, —  plus  accomplishment.  It  is  due,  no 
doubt,  to  the  practical  turn  of  the  world  during 
the  last  few  years.  I  am  interested  mightily 
in  scholarship  when  it  helps  towards  actual 
accomplishment:  when  like  a  gold  coin  it  pur- 
chases something;  unlike  the  old  notion  that 
scholarship  was  a  gold  or  silver  medal,  good 
only  to  decorate  or  dignify  the  person,  or  to  be 
kept  on  exhibition." 

"Are  you  sincere  in  that,  Garvin?"  I  de- 
manded. "If  so,  you  should  write  it  out  in 
editorials,  for  the  criticism  of  the  professors: 
if  you  could  substantiate  it  by  concrete  facts." 

"Concrete  facts,  Priddy!  Why,  it  would 
carry  us  into  the  small  hours  of  the  morning 
if  I  were  to  begin  their  enumeration.  Take 
Ellis,  for  instance.  You  tell  me  that  he  went 
into  the  medal  contest  to  vindicate  the  athletes. 
There  is  one  example  of  the  coin  of  scholarship 
purchasing  something:  one  concrete  expression 

[370] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

of  the  student  interest  in  scholarship  when  it 
leads  to  something  practical  and  concrete. 
Can  you  imagine  Ellis  going  into  a  literary 
contest  that  would  wind  up  in  itself,  without 
relation  to  something  practical  to  be  gained 
by  it?" 

"No." 

"You  go  around  the  campus  with  a  test  like 
that,  Priddy,  and  you  will  find  that  scholarship 
is  highly  respected  wherever  it  has  resulted  in 
accomplishment.  Don't  we  respect  Professor 
Florette?  I  should  say  we  did.  One  of  the 
most  perfect  scholars  in  the  college  and  yet 
even  the  grafters  among  the  students  would 
throw  their  caps  in  the  air  at  any  time  for  the 
Professor,  and  why  is  it?  It  is  because  his 
scholarship  has  actually  made  him  accomplish 
something.  He  is  president  of  the  National 
Science  Division  of  College  Instruction  and  is 
known  and  quoted  abroad  as  an  authority  in 
his  line.  That's  why  the  students  like  him. 
On  the  other  hand  you  might  pick  out  a  pro- 
fessor here  and  a  professor  there  who  is  very 
erudite  —  notice  my  vocabulary,  Priddy  —  and 
who  is  a  perfect  scholar  in  his  department,  and 
yet  who  never  translates  his  knowledge  into 
life:  never  writes  a  useful  book,  or  influences 
thought  abroad,  or  is  asked  to  address  even  a 
Kindergarten  Teachers'  Convention.  All  we 
know  of  him  is  that  'he  is  a  scholar.'  You 
don't  catch  us  shouting  much  for  that  man, 

[371] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

do  you?  He  has  not  accomplished  anything 
tangible,  ergo  —  his  scholarship  is  merely  an 
esthetic  satisfaction.  That's  why  we  fellows 
prefer  old  Florette." 

"But's  that  a  very  youthful  and  shallow  way 
of  judging,  Garvin,"  I  replied. 

"Well,  whether  you  call  it  youthful,  shallow, 
or  what  not,  that  is  the  way  most  of  the  students 
seem  to  regard  scholarship.  They  are  only 
interested  in  it  when  it  means  contact  with  life 
and  the  enlargement  of  the  scholar's  ability 
for  civic  usefulness.  That  is  the  outcome  of 
practical  America,  I  suppose.  But  for  the 
*  grind'  who  slaves  for  big  marks  and  the  sheer 
worship  of  books  —  and  nothing  else,  why,  I 
don't  have  much  use  for  him.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  a  fellow  grinds  out  big  marks  to  play 
on  the  football  team  in  security:  why,  that's 
the  fellow  that  gets  the  cheer.  It's  scholarship 
plus,  with  my  crowd,  and  I  think  you'd  better 
come  in  the  band-wagon  with  us,  Priddy,  for 
whether  the  professors  like  it  or  not,  and  choose 
to  cling  to  the  seventeenth  century  exaltation 
of  scholarship  per  se  —  note  my  Latin,  Priddy 
—  why,  it  won't  change  matters  any." 

"That's  something  to  think  about,  Garvin, 
at  any  rate." 

"If  you  observe  the  students  closely,  Priddy, 
I  think  you'll  find  that  they  do  respect  scholar- 
ship; put  it  in  the  very  highest  possible  place 
of  influence  —  when  it  has  led  to  something." 

[372] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"I  am  glad  I  had  this  talk  with  you,  Garvin. 
I  think  I  understand  the  fellows  a  little  better, 
—  I  can  even  forgive  the  unknown  who  wrote  : 
Priddy  Has  A  Grouch!" 

"Thank  you,  Al,"  replied  the  editor.  "I  am 
the  chap!" 

If  the  failure  of  Scholarship  Night  —  and  a 
dismal  one  it  was  —  had  seemed  to  indicate 
little  respect  for  pure  academic  accomplishment 
at  the  College,  there  soon  took  place  an  event 
which  swallowed  up  that  failure  in  its  over- 
whelming scholarly  success  and  aroused,  in  the 
student  heart,  every  last  atom  of  admiration 
for  the  academical  ideal.  Our  new  President 
was  inaugurated. 

Inauguration  Day  was  pre-eminently  the  real 
Scholarship  Day  with  the  links  closely  forged 
between  what  Garvin  called  scholarship  and 
accomplishment.  The  President  we  were  to 
honor  represented  the  close  tie  between  scholar- 
ship and  accomplishment.  His  learning  had 
brought  him  a  world  reputation  as  a  scientist, 
and  it  was  extremely  interesting,  after  the 
talk  with  Garvin,  to  note  with  what  unction 
the  students  lingered  on  the  reputation  of  the 
President,  and  how  deferentially  they  spoke  the 
names  of  this  Royal  Society  and  that  Foreign 
Body  which  had  honored  him  for  his  work. 

Garvin's  paper,  weeks  before  the  event, 
teemed  with  anticipatory  gossip  concerning 
the  stellar  names  in  education  that  were  to  be 

[373] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

printed  on  the  list  of  college  guests.  The 
campus  was  to  be  the  show  ground  for  the 
American  academic  peerage;  come  to  honor 
our  chief!  At  last  even  such  a  loafer  in  the 
college  as  B  ridden,  who  was  in  danger  of  losing 
his  degree  by  reason  of  his  overindulgence  in 
pool:  even  he  expressed  a  pride  and  interest 
in  the  coming  of  the  scholars:  the  scholars  par 
excellence. 

Even  down  to  so  technical  a  consideration  as 
the  language  of  hoods,  the  undergraduates 
manifested  fully  as  much  interest  as  they  had 
been  wont  to  give  to  baseball  batters'  averages. 
Garvin's  paper  came  out  with  a  color  list  by 
which  the  college  presidents,  university  chan- 
cellors, international  statesmen,  state  officials, 
seminary  heads  and  the  host  of  lesser  academics 
could  be  fully  interpreted  through  the  colors 
on  the  gowns  they  would  wrear  in  the  pro- 
cession: white  signifying  arts  and  letters,  scar- 
let theology,  purple  for  philosophy,  blue  for 
science,  brown  for  music  and  so  on  through  the 
list,  which  Garvin  editorially  advised  each 
student  to  either  cut  out  and  have  in  his  hand 
when  the  procession  moved,  or,  better  still,  to 
carefully  memorize  it. 

The  dignity  of  the  impending,  classic,  stately 
event;  the  sorting  of  gowns,  the  whispers 
and  queries  concerning  what  world  famous 
shoulders  were  to  receive  the  highest  degrees: 
all  this  sobered  the  students  and  stimulated 

[374] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

imaginations,  days  before  the  actual  event 
transpired.  To  me  it  promised  to  be  the  oppor- 
tunity to  see,  face  to  face,  the  men  of  culture 
and  administrative  power  whose  names  were 
familiar  in  the  far  corners  of  the  country:  men 
who  not  only  figured  as  authors,  administrators, 
lecturers,  scientists,  travelers,  and  moral  leaders, 
but,  among  them,  potential  Presidents  of  the 
nation,  honored  citizens  of  public  reputation, 
men  whose  names  were  already  merged  with 
civic  movements,  patriotic  events,  and  national 
political  advances.  It  meant  that  history,  suc- 
cessful ambition,  leadership,  and  moral  fibre 
were  to  be  personified  for  me  in  their  highest 
types. 

The  morning  of  the  inauguration  brought 
with  it  a  great  excitement.  The  Seniors  were 
to  wear  gowns  that  morning  for  the  first  time. 
On  leaving  the  house,  after  breakfast,  and  tak- 
ing my  position  near  the  Senior  Fence,  to  wait 
for  the  formation  of  the  line,  a  sunburst  of 
silken  scarlet  gown  dazzled  my  eyes,  as  a  sedate 
man  of  sixty,  with  a  white  beard,  hurried  along 
the  path,  his  head  topped  by  a  black  velvet 
bonnet.  He  was  followed  by  others,  in  the 
silken  glares  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  and 
a  continual  procession  of  black-draped  figures 
whose  multi-colored  hoods  were  like  lurid  gashes 
cut  in  the  mourning  by  a  deftly  wielded  blade. 

By  nine  o'clock  the  campus  was  astir  with 
visitors,  faculty,  alumni,  undergraduates,  the 

[375] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

band  and  the  sight-seers.  Ellis  marshalled  us 
into  a  double  line,  so  that  to  the  beholder,  in 
our  black  gowns  and  black  caps,  we  resembled 
a  very  mournful,  if  dignified,  procession  of  up- 
right ravens. 

Then  the  band  blared  forth  a  martial  thunder- 
clap which  pulled  our  feet  into  time.  Slowly, 
led  by  the  musicians,  we  filed  on  our  way  around 
the  outer  edge  of  the  campus,  dragging  after  us 
the  faculty  and  distinguished  visitors  whose 
chief  distinction  in  the  procession  lay  in  their 
inability  or  unwillingness  to  keep  to  the  step  we 
fixed.  Our  two  hundred  and  odd  pairs  of  hands 
swished  against  the  sides  of  our  flapping  gowns 
in  rhythmic  evenness.  Not  even  the  precision 
of  a  Black  Watch  drill  could  have  been  finer 
rendered  than  was  our  Senior  march.  The 
heads  and  bodies  swept  from  side  to  side  like 
the  orderly  attack  of  a  straight,  long  wave 
beating  backwards  and  forwards  against  a  cliff. 
Then,  at  Assembly  Hall,  our  double  line  divided 
and  we  stood  with  heads  uncovered:  a  lane  of 
honor,  while  the  recipients  of  honors,  the  visit- 
ing presidents,  the  faculty  and  the  alumni 
threaded  their  way  between  our  lines  into  the 
hall. 

Deeper  and  deeper  into  formalism  we  plunged : 
all  the  traditions  of  scholarship  were  called  up: 
all  the  esthetic  possibilities  of  academic  show 
and  etiquette  passed  in  review  before  us,  cap 
tipping,  hood  placing,  and  the  summing  up  of 

[376] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

the  achievements  of  a  lifetime  in  two  sentences 
as  an  honorary  degree  was  bestowed.  The 
trappings  and  medievalism  of  scholarship  added 
a  new  dignity  to  the  college  atmosphere.  The 
very  air  we  breathed  was  musty  with  the 
scholar's  tradition. 

The  only  modernness  in  the  event  came  in 
the  moments  of  handclapping,  as  addresses, 
investiture  and  degrees  followed  one  another. 
The  undergraduate  chorus,  massed  in  the  rear 
of  the  enormous  carpeted  platform,  added  to  the 
impressive  solemnity  of  the  exercises  by  its 
sonorous  harmonies.  Then  came  the  event  of 
the  occasion,  and  Ellis,  knight  of  valor  and 
skill  on  the  football  field,  was  the  central  figure 
in  the  event.  He  had  been  assigned  the  address 
representing  the  undergraduates.  He  stalked 
his  way  to  the  platform  and  stood  before  us, 
backed  by  the  massed  greatness  of  America's 
university  world.  But  he  paid  no  heed  to  that, 
as  he  had  not  been  wont  to  pay  much  heed  to 
the  thousands  of  on-lookers  who  admired  his 
skill  in  the  games.  He  took  fire,  and  was  the 
first  to  disturb  the  quiet  soberness  of  the  pro- 
gram by  putting  vivid  gesture  and  loud,  vibrant 
voice  into  play.  The  effect  on  the  visitors  and 
the  undergraduates  was  electrical.  Each  one 
bent  forward  as,  in  no  stately  rhetoric  or  formal 
phrase,  Ellis  opened  his  heart  which,  at  the 
moment,  comprehended  the  loyalty  of  all  the 
student  body.  As  he  concluded,  the  students 

[377] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

stood  in  a  mass,  and  after  the  prolonged  ap- 
plause —  the  finest  applause  of  the  event  — 
our  cheer  leader  dragged  a  husky,  but  thrilling 
college  cheer  from  our  throats,  while  Ellis 
modestly  found  his  place  in  our  midst.  As  we 
filed  out  into  the  light  of  the  noon  sun,  and 
could  easily  discover  the  towering,  broad 
shoulders  of  Ellis,  our  leader,  at  the  head  of  the 
line,  I  thought  of  the  honor  he  had  brought  to 
the  college  in  his  four  years'  presence  in  it,  and 
saw  in  him  the  union  of  all  that  is  best  in  Ameri- 
can college  life  and  those  qualities  which  the 
college  aims  to  invest  in  every  willing  student's 
life:  loyalty  to  one's  fellows,  physical  fitness, 
moral  alertness,  humility  in  success,  and  a 
respect  for  the  law  that  governs  men  and  nations. 


Chapter  XXXIX.  The  Lost 
Parrot.  Academic  Burlesque.  The 
Nervousness  of  the  Final  Minute. 
A  Religious  Outcropping  in  a  Non- 
Pious  Heart. 

SINCE  the  establishment  of  my  family  in 
the  college  precincts,  I  had  seen  very 
little,  in  a  social  way,  of  my  old  friend 
Sanderson.     I  determined  to  pay  him  a 
visit  one  evening,  and  took  with  me  a 
glass  of  grape  jelly  and  some  hermit  cookies,  as 
a  remembrance  from  my  wife. 

I  found  him  before  a  heap  of  blue  papers  on 
which  were  lead  pencil  scribbles.  A  look  of 
anxiety  was  on  his  face.  When  he  saw  me, 
however,  he  smiled  his  pleasure,  went  over  to 
the  hat  rack  and  put  on  his  fez. 

"How  are  you  getting  along,  Sanderson?"  I 
asked. 

"Say,"  he  pleaded,  "you  couldn't  just  run 
over  these  reports  of  mine  on  your  typewriter, 
could  you,  Priddy.  I'm  back  about  a  dozen, 

[379] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

and  must  have  them  in  to  get  passing  marks. 
It  would  be  such  a  help!" 

"Unfortunately,  what  with  sermons,  two 
prize  essays  on  which  I  am  working,  and  my 
own  studies,  Sanderson,  I  haven't  a  spare 
minute!" 

"Then  I'll  have  to  root  out  some  freshman 
and  give  him  the  job,  though  a  freshman's  so 
uninformed!  Why,  I  asked  one  of  'em  to  just 
scribble  a  two-page  description  of  Jane  Austen's 
*  Pride  and  Prejudice'  and  it  took  the  idiot  most 
a  week  to  do  it,  and  I  don't  think  it  can  be  hard 
reading,  from  what  the  Prof,  said  about  it. 
Now  if  I'd  had  time,  I  could  have  read  it  in  a 
night!" 

"Same  old  Sanderson,"  I  muttered.  "I  don't 
know  how  you'd  get  through  without  help!" 

"Well,"  he  retorted,  "since  you  brought  your 
wife  and  boy  to  town,  you've  done  mighty  little 
for  me,  eh?" 

"Oh,  you'll  take  care  of  yourself,"  I  replied. 

"Well,"  he  winked,  "I  have  been  lucky, 
lately.  Jimmy's  stuck  by  me!" 

"Who's  your  latest  benefactor,   *  Jimmy?" 
I  enquired. 

"  He's  a  medic,  who  rooms  across  the  campus. 
The  nicest  man  you  ever  met:  patient — oh,  so 
patient,  and  motherly  —  oh,  so  motherly!" 

"Motherly?" 

"Yes,  can  sew  patches  on,  and  buttons,  like  a 
real  endowed  maiden  aunt,  and  when  I'm  out 

[380] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

of  sorts  he  reads  to  me,  and  when  I  prick  my 
thumb  he  brings  over  a  medicine  case  and  drops 
peroxide  on.  I  sprained  my  wrist  at  hand-ball, 
and  Jimmy  soaked  and  painted  it  with  stuff, 
and  made  a  firm  leather  brace  for  it.  Oh,  you 
wait  till  he  blows  in  on  the  medical  profession, 
he'll  fit  in  it  as  no  man,  before  him,  ever  fitted 
in  it.  He  looks  after  me  like  a  regular  private 
physician,  if  I'll  only  let  him  come  in  and  study 
with  me.  You  see,  his  own  room's  always  so 
full  that  he  wants  to  get  away." 

Sanderson  smiled  significantly  at  me. 

"Filled  with  a  lot  more  soft-soapers  like  you, 
eh?  "I  laughed. 

"Well,  willing  good-nature  like  Jimmy's  is 
liable  to  be  imposed  on,"  he  agreed.  "He  comes 
to  my  room  for  protection.  I  tell  you,  my 
lessons  have  picked  up  wonderfully  since  he 
came." 

"Will  he  be  in  tonight?"  I  asked. 

"He  sure  will!"  said  Sanderson.  "If  he 
doesn't  I  don't  know  how  I'll  get  along  with  my 
biology. quiz  in  the  morning.  I  was  saving  it 
for  him!" 

"You  fraud!     He  has  his  own  work  to  do!" 

"Don't  scold,  please,"  replied  Sanderson. 
"He  gets  through  his  work  all  right.  He'd 
starve  if  he  couldn't  be  a  benefactor  to  some- 
body. He  will  come  in  tonight.  We'll  have  a 
few  minutes'  chat.  Then  he'll  ask  me  about 
the  quiz  and  he'll  let  go  at  me  for  an  hour  or 

[381] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

so.  Then  we'll  have  another  chat  and  it  will 
be  my  bedtime,  for  I  never  plan  to  be  out  of 
bed  after  half-past  ten  except  on  exceptional 
occasions.  I'll  leave  my  bedroom  door  open 
while  I  get  ready.  Jimmy'll  talk  to  me  until 
I  let  out  a  snore,  —  I'll  tell  him  to  be  sure  and 
snap  the  lock  after  he  leaves.  Perhaps  an  hour 
later  he'll  creep  out,  and  go  to  his  own  room. 
Oh,  I  swear  by  Jimmy!" 

"And  get  your  marks  by  him,  too,  eh?" 
"What's  a  fellow  to  do?"  asked  Sanderson. 
As  I  turned  to  go,  Sanderson  yawned, 
"Say,  Priddy,  could  you  run  in  with  that 
print  on  Holbein's  'Saint  Barbara?'     I  failed 
to  get  it,  and  we  have  to  recite  on  it,  in  the 
morning.     You  might  bring  me  the  dope  on  it, 
too!" 

I  entered  at  last  upon  the  final  stretch  towards 
my  degree.  In  the  stress  of  work  and  the  ex- 
citement of  writing  a  philosophical  and  a  literary 
essay,  in  competition  for  two  senior  prizes,  the 
days  of  winter  changed  into  the  brighter  aspects 
of  spring  almost  before  I  was  aware  of  it.  Once 
more  we  assembled  on  the  campus  for  the  class 
"sing,"  and  this  time  my  wife  could  enjoy  the 
music  with  me,  as  we  stood  on  the  corner  and 
let  our  year-old  boy  ask,  "What?"  when  the 
cheers  began. 

The  class  elections  were  held,  the  photograph 
of  the  class  was  taken,  backgrounded  against  a 
most  rustic  wall  of  stone  and  arrangement  of 

[382] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

wild  shrubbery.  Our  caps  and  gowns  soon 
followed  the  class  pictures,  and  then  we  wore 
them  to  chapel,  in  which  we  marched  so  slowly 
and  solemnly  under  the  guide  of  our  marshal, 
that  more  than  one  irrepressible  spirit  in  the 
ranks  would  burst  out  with  laughter  at  so  much 
dignity  in  so  youthful  a  crowd.  Through  these 
days  I  often  grew  impatient.  I  was  eager,  now, 
with  restored  health,  and  with  a  richer  mine  of 
truth,  to  be  in  a  parish  again,  doing  my  chosen 
work. 

But  when  commencement  week  arrived  with 
its  sentimental  spirit,  —  then  I  felt  the  full 
significance  of  this  last  educational  experience. 

A  band,  brought  from  the  city,  gave  con- 
certs on  the  college  club  porch,  amid  a  forest 
of  plants  and  shrubs,  and  under  fairy  like 
illuminations.  Class  reunions  brought  crowds  / 
of  graduates,  who  donned  yellow  hats,  wore  j  *j 
clownish  clothes,  and  paraded  up  and  down 
seeing  how  much  burlesque  they  could  express. 
One  class  engaged  an  Italian  hand-organ  artist 
who  had  also,  perched  on  his  music-box,  an  intel- 
ligent parrot  which  would  pick  out  fortune  slips 
from  a  box  —  for  five  cents.  In  some  way  the 
class  lost  the  parrot,  and  I  came  across  the 
Italian  boy,  crying  bitterly,  as  he  searched  a 
wild  gully  for  the  bird,  saying,  when  I  asked  him 
what  the  trouble  could  be, 

"Ah,  my  parrote,  he  los',  my  God,  what  I  do 
for  live  now!"  , 

[383] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

Meanwhile  the  renters  of  the  organ  sat  in  an 
automobile  and  raced  back  and  forth  down  the 
main  street  while  it  scattered  its  wheezy  music 
along  the  trail  of  gasolene  fumes. 

On  one  corner,  a  group  of  distinguished-look- 
ing men  and  women  stood  in  the  dry  gutter, 
with  slips  of  paper  in  their  hands,  singing  with 
more  or  less  effect,  and  great  seriousness, 

"  Oh,  the  class  of  'Eighty  odd, 
It  is  a  glorious  band, 
It  scatters  wisdom,  grace  and  power, 
Throughout  this  mighty  land ! " 

Over  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  campus  a 
crowd  of  lawyers,  bankers,  ministers,  and  busi- 
ness men,  who  would  shock  their  neighbors  at 
home  if  they  had  a  shoe-lace  untied,  paraded  in 
purple  wrappers  and  sun-bonnets  topped  with 
paper  roses. 

Then  the  morning  of  graduation  arrived. 
The  mock  wrappings  were  put  aside  by  the 
visitors,  who  appeared  in  frock  coats  and  sedate 
manners.  By  nine  o'clock  I  joined  my  class- 
mates at  the  fence  and  found  my  place  in  the 
line.  Meanwhile  crowds  of  people  in  holiday 
dress  thronged  the  campus  once  again,  mem- 
bers of  the  faculty  with  gowns  fluttering  in  the 
wind,  and  with  scarlet,  purple,  yellow,  and  white 
hoods,  gathered  at  the  administration  building. 

As  at  the  Inauguration  the  band  once  more 
took  its  place  at  our  head,  struck  up  its 
vibrant  tune,  and  then  at  the  dropping  of 

[384] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

the  marshal's  baton  we  took  the  step  and 
marched  around  the  campus,  a  black,  rhythmical 
procession  of  academics.  The  gay -hooded,  but 
sedate  faculty  followed,  to  march  through  the 
double  line  of  honor  we  formed  at  the  entrance 
to  the  hall.  Then  we  entered  and  stood  at  our 
seats  until  the  marshal's  baton  gave  us  the 
signal  to  be  seated. 

The  deep  platform  before  us  was  ranged  with 
the  faculty,  the  trustees,  the  recipients  of  hon- 
orary degrees,  and  the  musicians,  including  a 
robed  choir  of  students  and  the  musical  director. 

But  my  eyes  fell  on  the  table  at  the  head  of 
the  centre  aisle  on  which  lay  a  thick,  flat  heap 
of  sheepskins;  mine  among  them. 

Nervously  I  picked  up  the  program,  and,  as  I 
looked  it  through,  to  see  the  catalogue  of  my 
academic  career,  it  told  to  all  who  searched  it 
through  that  Albert  Priddy  graduated  cum 
laude,  and  that  he  had  won  four  first  prizes :  two 
in  his  junior  year  and  two  in  his  senior  year: 
two  essays,  a  story,  and  a  research  in  philosophy. 

The  addresses,  the  salutatory,  valedictory,  and 
the  greeting  by  the  faculty  were  given.  The 
choir  sang  an  impressive  anthem.  The  honor- 
ary degrees  were  conferred  with  great  solemnity. 
The  classmate  next  to  me  said: 

"Priddy,  my  heart  is  beating  so  fast  that  if 
we  don't  get  our  degrees  soon,  it  will  burst. 
Just  think  if  anything  should  prevent  our  getting 
them  —  now!" 

[385] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"Don't  mention  it,"  I  suggested,  in  nervous 
agitation,  "please." 

Finally,  however,  the  dean  came  down  from 
the  platform  and  we  stood.  Then  we  began  a 
very  slow  walk  around  the  side  aisles,  down  past 
the  platform  to  pass  before  the  dean  and  receive 
our  degrees.  Slowly,  ever  too  slowly,  I  drew 
near,  and  then,  a  whispered  "Priddy"  from  the 
Dean  and  the  sheepskin  was  in  my  hand. 

Immediately  I  changed  the  position  of  the 
tassel  of  my  cap  for  I  had,  that  moment,  of- 
ficially shifted  myself  from  the  undergraduate 
role  of  the  college  and  entered  the  long,  his- 
toric ranks  of  the  alumni." 

When  I  got  back  to  my  seat,  my  neighbor, 
who  had  expressed  the  fear  that  something  would 
occur,  whispered  with  relief: 

"I'm  not  a  religious  fellow,  Priddy,  but  I  do 
feel  like  singing  the  doxology,  now  that  I've 
got  this!"  He  pointed  to  his  diploma. 


[386] 


Chapter  XL.  In  which  the 
Account  Comes  to  a  Conclusion  in 
the  Life  of  a  Relative.  Martin 
Quotes  Spanish  and  Has  the 
Last 


A  PER    we  had   been  established  in   a 
parish  for  some  time,  I  suggested  to 
my    wife    that    probably    the    best 
Christmas  present  I  could  give  my 
Uncle    Stanwood    and    Aunt    Millie 
would  be  to  make  them  a  personal  visit  after 
all  my  years  of  absence  and  recite  to  them  all 
the  facts  of  my  education,  my  marriage,  and 
describe  to  them  the  two  interesting  members  of 
my  family. 

So  I  arrived  at  Uncle  Stanwood's  house  the 
week  before  Christmas  with  the  intention  of 
spending  a  week  with  him.  I  had  been  asked 
to  preach  the  Christmas  sermon  by  Mr.  Wood- 
ward, the  minister,  who  had  started  me  off  to 
the  seminary. 

My  uncle  was  still  living  in  a  mill  tenement. 
[387] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"So  you've  got  an  education  after  all!"  he  com- 
mented, putting  a  loving  hand  on  my  shoulder. 
"Education  has  made  a  difference  in  you  alto- 
gether. You  are  much  different.  Sit  down  and 
tell  me  all  about  it." 

As  for  my  Aunt  Millie,  she  said,  "What  did 
you  marry  an  American  for?  Can  she  cook?" 

Just  then  the  door  opened  and  in  slouched 
the  tallest  man  I  ever  saw;  slouched  past  us 
without  a  word  and  threw  himself  moodily  into 
a  chair  at  the  end  of  the  supper  table.  His  face 
had  been  carved  —  roughly  carved  —  out  of 
mahogany;  it  was  gaunt,  sun-beaten  and  lined 
with  fret  marks.  He  laid  big,  scarred  hands  on 
his  plate.  His  shoulders  drooped  and  yet  were 
massive  in  strength.  His  eyes  were  like  distant 
lights  well  back  under  the  shadow  of  his  bulging 
brows.  A  look  of  disgust  seemed  to  have 
lingered  on  his  thin,  curled  lips  since  his  birth. 

He  was  my  cousin  Martin  who  had  arrived 
from  England  two  years  before. 

When  he  rose  up  to  reach  out  one  of  his  great 
hands  to  me,  there  was  a  curious,  unaccountable 
antagonism  in  his  tone  when  he  said,  "Oh, 
this's  him,  eh?  He's  the  lucky  dog,  is  he?" 

During  the  recital  of  my  educational  experi- 
ences wrhich  followed,  I  noticed  that  my  most 
interested  listener  wras  Martin.  When  I  came 
to  those  parts  wrhich  had  to  do  with  self-support, 
he  was  alert  in  every  muscle.  His  eyes  blazed 
at  me,  devouring  every  word  that  I  said. 

[388] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

When  aunt  and  uncle  left  us  alone,  Martin 
said:  "Priddy,  do  you  think  the  world's  treated 
me  —  oh,  right,  just  right?" 

"What  do  you  mean,  Martin?"  I  asked. 
"You've  got  fight  in  your  tone.  What's 
wrong?" 

"Did  you  never  ask  that,  too?"  he  retorted, 
hotly.  "Did  you  ever  kick  against  the  goad? 
I  think  you  did,  once.  Don't  forget  it,  Priddy, 
ever!  You're  not  the  only  chap  that  ever 
wanted  to  get  ahead,  don't  lose  sight  of  that.  If 
it  comes  to  matching  ambition,  I've  got  enough 
and  to  spare.  Here  you  are,  not  much  over 
twenty,  I  take  it,  yet  you've  got  polished  by 
seven  years  of  schooling.  Seven  years  of  it! 
Have  you  any  more  right  to  it  than  me?  Here 
I  am  nearly  thirty  and  what  am  I?  Blest  if 
I'm  anything  but  a  hod  carrier!  What  have  I 
ever  been,  Priddy?  Did  I  ever  have  a  chance? 
I  went  into  the  mill  at  eight  and  have  been  there 
till  this  winter  set  in.  God  knows  it's  little  I 
know  in  the  way  of  schooling!  I  can  write  my 
name  and  read  some;  but  I  got  it  myself.  You 
know  what  the  mill  can  be  to  an  ambitious 
chap.  You  never  felt  it  pressing  down  and 
stifling  you  more  than  I  did.  I  tell  you  that." 
He  actually  spit  on  his  hands  and  rubbed  them, 
as  if  on  the  verge  of  striking  me. 

"The  beginning  of  this  winter  I  said  I  wouldn't 
stand  it  no  longer,  and  I  won't!  No  mill  will 
get  me  again;  not  if  I  have  to  starve.  I  nearly 

[389] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

have  starved,  this  winter,  trying  to  keep  out. 
I've  peddled  shoes,  run  a  baker's  cart,  been 
janitor  of  a  club-room  and  now  I'm  carrying 
bricks!  Maybe  you  don't  think  it's  hard!  I 
wish  you  had  it  to  go  through.  Perhaps  you 
have,  only  your  hands  arn't  spoiled  like  mine 
with  the  frost.  Even  my  feet  are  lame,  this 
very  minute,  through  frost.  I'm  earning  a 
dollar  seventy -five  a  day:  good  pay,  but  I 
shouldn't  last  more  than  a  few  years  at  it  and 

then .  Besides,  I  want  to  get  married. 

She's  waiting.  I've  just  got  fifty  dollars  in  the 
bank.  Do  you  wonder  I  feel  so?" 

On  Christmas  Sunday  a  blackboard  in  front 
of  the  church  announced  that  the  "Rev.  Albert 
Priddy,  formerly  of  this  church,  will  preach 
in  the  morning  and  evening.  Everybody 
Welcome!" 

My  uncle  took  me  aside,  in  the  morning,  and 
said: 

"I'm  coming  out  to  hear  you,  Al.  Do  your 
best,  lad.  I'll  be  with  you.  God  knows  I 
don't  deserve  all  this!" 

It  was  a  very  simply  arranged  church;  plain, 
white-washed  walls,  and  a  cheaply  carpeted 
platform.  While  the  first  hymn  was  being 
sung,  my  Uncle  Stanwood  crept  into  a  rear 
pew  and  kept  his  eyes  down. 

But  while  I  preached,  a  half  smile  of  pride 
stole  into  his  face  and  to  my  excited  imagination 
his  head  seemed  to  be  nodding  approval  to  all 

[390] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

I  said.  The  look  in  his  eyes  seemed  to  be 
saying,  "Show  them,  Al!" 

I  whispered  to  the  minister,  "Let  me  pro- 
nounce the  benediction  and  while  we  are  singing 
the  last  hymn,  get  down  the  aisle  and  meet  my 
uncle.  He  may  get  out  before  you.  He's 
timid." 

But  Uncle  Stanwood  crept  out  before  the 
benediction  and  I  did  not  see  him  again  until 
my  arrival  home  for  dinner. 

On  arriving  home,  I  was  startled  by  what 
Aunt  Millie  did.  She  came  up  to  me,  patted 
me  lovingly  on  the  head  and  said,  "I'm  glad 
you  did  so  well,  Al.  Your  uncle's  been  telling 
me  all  about  it.  I'll  go  and  hear  you  tonight, 
too." 

Martin  evidently  was  interested,  for  in  that 
belligerent  tone  of  his,  though  softened  by  a 
light  laugh,  he  said: 

"I  suppose  I'll  have  to  go,  too,  seeing  I'm 
his  relation!" 

I  left  the  house  that  evening  somewhat  early, 
because  I  had  to  meet  some  friends.  Martin 
was  blacking  his  shoes;  Aunt  Millie  was 
troubling  herself  unduly  over  what  she  should 
wear:  a  superfluous  question,  as  she  had  but 
one  Sunday  dress  and  hat. 

On  my  way  to  church  that  night,  I  could  not 
help  feeling  that  I  must  have  misunderstood 
my  aunt.  I  chided  myself  for  not  having  read 
her  aright.  I  began  to  realize  that  there  was  a 

[391] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

deep  under-current  to  her  nature  —  perhaps 
one  of  love? 

It  was  a  thought  like  that  that  proved  my  best 
girding  for  the  evening  sermon.  I  sat  in  the 
pulpit  while  the  church  filled;  for  this  evening 
service  was  always  well  attended.  The  choir 
of  mill  boys  and  girls,  led  by  a  patriarchal  man 
whose  face  and  hands  were  white  as  fuller's 
earth,  sang  stirring  anthems  in  which  we  saw 
the  Palestinian  shepherds  in  mute  adoration  of 
the  stable  miracle.  The  congregation  sang,  with 
great  unction,  another  Christmas  theme. 
Martin's  head  towered  at  the  rear;  but  I  could 
find  no  trace  of  Aunt  Millie. 

After  the  service,  and  the  greetings  of  old- 
time  friends,  I  looked  about  for  Martin  and 
Aunt  Millie.  I  saw  neither.  It  was  somewhat 
late  when  I  arrived  home.  Aunt  Millie  was 
waiting  for  me  with  a  troubled  face. 

:<You  managed  to  hide  yourself  pretty  well!" 
I  laughed. 

She  cried  as  she  confessed: 

"I  didn't  go,  Al.  I  didn't  hear  you  at  all. 
That's  the  plain  truth!" 

"Why,  I  thought  I  saw  you  getting  ready 
when  I  left,"  I  said. 

;<Yes,  I  was;  but  I  didn't  hear  you  preach. 
I  couldn't!" 

"Oh,"  I  laughed,  "you  couldn't?  What  was 
the  matter?" 

"I  started  out;  but  on  the  way  I  lost  heart. 
[392] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

I  was  afraid  that  I  might  cry  out  in  church, 
with  you  preaching,  lad.  Besides,  I'm  not  a 
dissenter.  I  was  passing  the  Episcopal  church 
and  went  in  there,  instead.  I  felt  more  at  home. 
You  can  understand,  can't  you,  lad?" 

Then  she  asked  me  to  sit  on  the  sofa  and  tell 
her  everything  I  had  spoken  of  in  my  sermon; 
not  to  miss  a  point,  but  to  give  it  all.  She 
gave  my  points  commendation,  remarking  every 
now  and  then  while  her  eyes  brimmed  with 
tears,  "It  must  have  done  them  good,  that!" 

Uncle  sat  at  the  lower  end  of  the  room,  say- 
ing not  a  word;  but  listening,  carefully.  In 
the  midst  of  my  report  the  front  door  opened, 
and  Martin,  taking  long,  determined  strides, 
hurried  through  the  room  without  looking  at 
any  of  us,  closed  the  kitchen  door  with  a  bang, 
and  left  us  looking  into  each  other's  faces  in 
bewilderment. 

"Maybe  he's  mad  at  something  you  said,  Al. 
You  didn't  chance  to  look  his  way  and  talk  of 
*  coming  to  God,'  did  you?" 

I  solemnly  averred  that  I  had  not  been  so 
evangelical  as  that.  My  aunt  hurried  into  the 
kitchen  where  she  lingered  for  a  few  moments. 
On  her  return  she  said: 

"It's  all  right,  Al.  There's  nothing  wrong. 
He's  just  impressed  by  hearing  you  preach, 
that's  all.  He  said  to  me,  'If  education  can  do 
that,  for  a  fellow,  I  want  some  of  it ! " 

The  next  morning  a  heavy  snow  was  falling. 
[393] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

Martin  would  have  no  work.  After  breakfast 
he  asked  me  if  I  would  go  into  the  parlor  and 
have  a  talk,  he  wanted  to  ask  me  something.  I 
readily  agreed. 

The  former  antagonism  had  gone  from  his 
voice  as  he  began  to  speak.  His  words  came 
quietly,  curiously,  like  a  child's. 

"Priddy,  what  can  a  chap  learn  to  be  in 
college?" 

"What  do  you  mean?  What  does  a  college 
fit  men  for?"  I  asked. 

Martin  nodded  soberly,  his  eyes  fixed  on  mine. 

I  laughed,  "Oh,  college  will  train  you  for 
almost  any  profession;  that  is,  the  professional 
schools  will.  You  can  study  to  be  a  doctor,  a 
lawyer,  a  forester,  a  teacher  —  oh,  anything  you 
think  of!" 

"What  do  you  think's  the  best  kind  of  a  thing 
for  a  chap  to  be?" 

"Why,"  I  replied,  in  embarrassment,  "that 
depends  upon  the  fellow,  you  know." 

"Well,"  said  Martin,  "what  kind  of  a  pro- 
fession would  you  advise  a  chap  like  me  to 
take,  for  instance!" 

I  smiled,  knowing  what  all  this  fencing  meant. 
"Forestry  is  a  good  profession,  just  now,"  I 
advised.  "It's  a  new  branch  to  the  govern- 
ment and  brings  in  good  money.  I  am  sure  you 
would  like  to  be  a  forester." 

"What's  his  work,  especially?"  came  the 
question. 

[394] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

I  explained,  as  best  I  knew,  the  different 
functions  of  a  trained  forester,  emphasizing, 
"  Mind  you,  Martin,  he's  paid  for  what  he  knows 
and  not  what  he  does  with  his  hands.  He  doesn't 
have  to  chop  down  trees  and  all  that  sort  of 
stuff;  but  he  knows  all  about  saving  the  forests, 
improving  them,  doctoring  them." 

"How  long  does  it  take  a  man  to  learn  that 
trade?"  was  the  next  question. 

"About  seven  years,  including  college  and 
professional  school." 

"It  would  take  a  fellow  like  me  that  long?" 

"Oh,"  I  admitted,  reluctantly,  for  I  felt  that 
this  would  put  a  stop  to  any  ambition  that  he 
had,  "of  course  you  are  not  ready  for  college. 
That  would  mean  at  least  three  years  more!" 

Martin  mused, 

"Seven  and  three — ten.  I'm  twenty-eight 
years  old.  That  would  bring  it  up  to  thirty- 
eight." 

:*Yes,"  I  assented,  "but  you  must  remember 
that  there  are  a  good  many  working  years  left, 
after  that!" 

"I'm  not  thinking  about  myself;  it's  Nora. 
We  planned  to  get  married  by  spring.  Of  course 
I  should  put  it  off.  I  wonder  if  you'd  help  me?  " 

"  Help  you  —  how  —  what?  " 

"Help  me  to  explain  to  Nora;  so  she'll  wait 
—  wait  probably  that  long!" 

'  You  can  count  on  me  to  help  you  in  anything, 
Martin." 

[395] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

"When  she  knows  it's  for  her  betterment, 
maybe  she'll  be  willing,"  interjected  Martin,  as 
if  in  argument  with  himself. 

I  nodded,  vigorously. 

"Anyway,"  he  said  with  that  belligerent  tone 
of  his,  "she'll  have  to  be!" 

Under  the  inspiration  of  this  conversation,  I 
pulled  Martin  out  of  the  house  and  took  him  to 
the  public  library,  where  we  asked  for  a  bundle 
of  preparatory  school  and  college  catalogues. 
These  we  whispered  over  and  patiently  studied 
until  noon.  We  found  that,  by  unusual  labor, 
it  would  be  possible  for  Martin  to  get  his 
preparation,  his  college  degree,  and  his  profes- 
sional training  within  nine  years!  As  a  further 
proof  of  our  optimism,  we  decided  that  Martin 
should  enter  Yale  when  he  was  fitted! 

We  found  from  the  catalogue  of  the  prepara- 
tory school  that  Martin  had  decided  upon,  that 
the  term  opened  within  two  days.  When  I 
advised  Martin  to  write  a  letter  to  the  principal 
and  await  a  reply,  he  stormed  at  me: 

"And  probably  it  would  be  a  week  before  I 
heard  from  him.  That  would  put  me  behind 
the  classes  —  and  you  would  be  gone,  too.  If 
they  aren't  overcrowded,  why,  I'll  not  wait  to 
write;  but  just  take  my  fifty  dollars  and  go. 
They  can  only  say  no." 

His  decision  made,  Martin  began  to  show  me 
what  a  decided  nature  he  possessed.  He  drew 
the  fifty  dollars  out  of  the  bank.  He  bought 

[396] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

some  necessary  clothes  out  of  the  money. 
The  next  day  he  gave  notice  to  the  contractor 
that  he  would  carry  bricks  no  more.  Then  he 
outlined  his  scheme  to  uncle  and  aunt. 

My  Aunt  Millie  stormed. 

"This  education  business  is  getting  on  my 
nerves.  First  it's  one  and  then  another  of 
you."  Turning  on  me  she  said,  "Nice  way  of 
treating  us:  coming  to  take  a  good  paying 
boarder  from  us  —  and  we  need  the  money  so, 
too!" 

But  Martin  interjected,  "Look  here,  I  did  it 
all  myself.  Blame  me  for  it!" 

But  my  aunt  would  not  be  consoled.  "And 
I'd  been  planning  so  for  the  wedding,  too!" 
she  exclaimed. 

As  I  chanced  to  be  going  on  a  trip  to  the 
Seminary  at  the  time,  I  told  Martin  that  I 
could  be  his  companion  as  far  as  he  had  to  go. 

"But  you've  got  to  go  to  the  North  End  with 
me  and  help  me  explain  matters  to  Nora. 
You've  got  a  smoother  tongue  than  I  have  and 
she'll  listen  to  you." 

So  Martin  and  I  started  out  on  our  dismal 
mission.  Nora  lived  on  the  top  floor  in  one  of 
the  tenements.  She  was  a  stout,  fair-faced 
woman  of  twenty-seven  with  a  way  of  casting 
her  head  sidewise  when  she  spoke  to  me,  as  if 
she  had  trouble  with  her  sight.  She  stood  gaz- 
ing at  us,  at  that  unexpected  hour,  from  behind 
the  ironing-board.  The  odor  of  burning  cloth 

[397] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

reached  my  nostrils,  as  she  stood  wondering. 
She  had  burnt  the  shirtwaist  and  no  amount  of 
frantic  rubbing  with  soap  could  take  the  scar 
out. 

She  dismissed  us  to  the  parlor  while  she  put 
on  a  more  presentable  dress.  Martin  said  not 
a  word  to  me;  but  he  pointed  dumbly  to  his 
photograph  in  a  place  of  honor  on  the  mantel. 

Nora  came  into  the  room  exclaiming: 

"Why,  Martin,  didn't  you  let  me  know? 
What's  the  matter?" 

Martin  started  to  speak;  but  could  not.  He 
nodded  to  me. 

Carefully,  painfully,  hesitantly,  I  outlined 
Martin's  ambition  to  Nora.  More  than  that 
I  explained  the  reasonableness  of  it,  the  prime 
importance  of  it  to  their  later  fortunes.  I  tried 
to  paint  in  glowing  terms  the  high  station  to 
which  Nora,  through  Martin,  might  be  exalted. 
I  leaped  from  point  to  point  with  enthusiastic 
eloquence,  when  the  theme  had  mastered  me. 
But  when  I  had  concluded,  and  was  looking 
eagerly  into  the  young  woman's  face  for  a  favor- 
able sign,  she  gasped,  then  in  a  cold  voice  she 
said: 

"Oh,  yes,  it's  all  right  for  him;  but  don't  I 
know  that  if  he  goes  to  college  he'll  meet  other 
girls,  better  looking,  better  dressed,  better 
educated  than  I  am,  or  can  ever  hope  to  be. 
Suppose  I  don't  break  off  this  engagement  now, 
how  am  I  to  know  that  he'll  not  forget  me, 

[398] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

throw  me  over.  Have  you  thought  of  that  in 
all  your  plans?" 

"Martin's  a  man  of  his  word,  I  suppose,"  I 
protested. 

"You'd  find  me  true,  Nora,"  declared  Martin. 

"How  long  do  you  want  me  to  wait?"  de- 
manded the  girl. 

"Only  about  seven  or  eight  years  or  so!" 
haltingly  explained  Martin. 

Nora  leaped  to  her  feet  and  stamped  the 
floor,  angrily,  imperatively. 

"You'd  keep  me  waiting  seven  or  eight  years; 
waiting  that  long  for  you,  with  all  the  risk! 
Not  me !  Not  for  a  thousand  Martins! " 

That  was  her  answer.  We  left  her  without 
more  words.  We  left  her  watching  us,  crying. 
Martin  commented,  when  we  were  outside: 

"Now,  if  she'd  only  had  more  faith  in  me 
and  made  me  feel  certain  of  victory,  maybe 
I'd  given  the  whole  thing  up;  but  now  —  we'll 
go  tomorrow,  sure!" 

The  following  evening  we  sat  in  the  North 
Station  in  Boston,  awaiting  the  train  that  would 
carry  us  on  an  all-night  journey.  Every  nerve 
Martin  possessed  quivered  with  pessimism.  He 
scolded,  chided,  lodged  complaints  at  everything 
and  everybody.  He  tried  to  give  me  the  im- 
pression that  I  had  made  a  prisoner  of  him; 
that  he  no  longer  had  any  initiative  of  his  own. 
As  we  sat  in  the  waiting-room  he  held  humorous 
monologues  the  purport  of  each  one  being, 

[399] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

"What  a  fool  I  am,  at  my  age,  to  be  running 
out  among  a  lot  of  kids  to  get  ready  for  college. 
What  a  fool!"  During  that  hour's  wait,  he 
had  resolved  four  times  to  expend  that  fifty 
dollars  in  a  ticket  to  the  orange  groves  of 
California.  Finally,  when  he  had  been  brood- 
ing in  silence  for  some  moments,  with  a  quick 
action  he  pulled  out  his  pocket  book,  handed 
it  to  me  and  said,  savagely,  "Here,  take  this 
and  keep  it  safe.  No  matter  how  I  beg  or  what 
I  say,  don't  let  me  have  it.  To  make  things 
sure,  you'd  better  run  and  get  me  my  ticket  to 
the  school;  then  I'll  be  sure  and  not  turn  back!" 

As  our  train  started  from  the  station  it  plunged 
into  a  heavy,  blinding  snow-storm  that  had  been 
raging  throughout  the  entire  day.  Once  in  our 
seats,  Martin  recommenced  his  tirades  against 
this  "foolishness."  But  there  were  propitious 
signs  near  at  hand,  for  his  encouragement.  A 
man  was  coming  down  the  aisle  looking  for  a 
seat  in  whom  I  recognized  a  Seminary  comrade 
of  mine.  He  was  a  stubby  fellow  of  middle  age, 
with  an  ill-kept,  drooping  moustache. 

"Say,  Harlan,  old  fellow,"  I  greeted,  "stop 
right  here  and  meet  my  cousin."  When  he  was 
seated,  I  talked  with  him,  and,  for  Martin's 
benefit,  to  whom  I  slyly  winked  as  I  talked, 
brought  out  the  fact  that  Harlan  had  been 
much  older  than  my  cousin  when  he  had  started 
out  for  an  education.  Nay,  he  had  been  handi- 
capped with  a  wife  and  a  child!  Now  he 

[400] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

enjoyed  the  dignity  of  the  ministerial  profes- 
sion. The  moral  was  evident  to  Martin.  He 
braced  up  and  became  very  agreeable,  especially 
to  my  old  friend  Harlan. 

We  talked  in  low  tones  until  three  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  at  which  time  the  brakeman  called 
out  the  station  where  I  should  leave  Martin  to 
his  fortunes.  The  poor  fellow  seemed  on  the 
verge  of  tears  as  he  gripped  his  suit-case  and 
followed  me  to  the  door  as  the  train  slacked  up 
its  speed.  I  looked  off  from  the  platform.  The 
storm  had  not  abated.  I  could  see  only  a  great 
snowdrift  where  the  station  platform  should 
have  been.  A  street  light  flickered  weakly  out 
on  the  street. 

As  Martin  dropped  up  to  his  knees  in  the 
snowdrift  and  reached  for  his  suit-case  I 
whispered : 

"Find  a  hotel,  and  let  me  hear  from  you,  old 
fellow.  Keep  up  your  courage.  If  there's  any- 
thing I  can  do,  call  on  me!"  Harlan  waved  his 
hand  and  called,  "Never  too  late  to  mend!" 
an  aphorism  which  might  have  been  pertinent 
to  the  occasion,  and  then  the  brakeman's 
lantern  swung.  As  the  train  lumbered  through 
the  drifts,  I  saw  Martin  bend  his  head  to  the 
storm,  lift  his  suit-case  above  the  drifts,  and 
go  plodding  towards  the  street  light.  The 
station  was  deserted,  and  I  hoped  that  my 
cousin  would  find  someone  to  direct  him  before 
the  storm  discouraged  him. 

[401] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

A  few  months  later,  I  stopped  off  at  the  town 
where  I  had  left  my  cousin.  He  met  me  at  the 
train,  the  same  serious  man  I  had  left,  though 
with  a  trace  of  a  smile  on  his  face  and  more  of 
content  in  his  speech  than  before.  He  guided 
me  past  a  grocery  store  and  said: 

"I  get  up  at  four  in  the  morning,  do  my  study- 
ing, then  before  classes  I  go  out  and  take  orders 
for  that  firm." 

He  led  me  down  a  placid  street,  through  the 
shovelled  paths  of  snow,  and  after  opening  the 
front  door  led  me  into  a  well-warmed  and  very 
nicely  furnished  chamber. 

"I  do  their  chores  and  earn  the  rent  for  this 
room,"  he  announced,  with  a  grim  smile.  "Fur- 
nace to  look  after,  paths  to  shovel,  and  baby  to 
keep  happy,  if  it  wakens  when  they  want  to  go 
to  an  entertainment." 

At  supper  time  he  led  me  into  the  heart  of 
the  town  into  an  eating-house.  He  had  a 
meal  ticket  punched  by  the  waitress. 

"This  ticket  costs  three  dollars,"  he  said, 
"enough  to  last  a  week  at  three  meals  a  day.  I 
make  it  last  three  weeks  by  scrimping  and  having 
a  bottle  of  milk  a  day  in  my  room." 

"How  do  you  like  the  school?"  I  asked, 
pleased  with  these  evidences  of  his  thrift. 

"Well,"  he  mused,  "they  are  a  lot  of  kids,  to 
be  sure,  and  I'm  quite  a  freak  among  them. 
*  Grandad*  Martin  they  call  me.  I  suppose 
they've  never  had  so  old  a  man  in  their  classes 

[402] 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL 

before.  Anyhow,  that's  the  way  you  would 
argue  from  their  looks  and  talk.  But  it  doesn't 
bother  me  —  much.  I  guess  we'll  all  get  used 
to  it,  by  and  by." 

"How  is  Nora  getting  along?"  I  ventured  to 
enquire. 

"Married!"  he  snarled,  and  talked  no  more 
about  that. 

"What  do  you  think  about  this  opportunity, 
Martin?" 

"Wouldn't  have  missed  it  for  fifty  weddings!" 
he  declared. 

Throughout  the  year  I  received  word  from 
him,  couched  in  various  tempers  of  letters. 
Sometimes  he  was  about  to  throw  the  whole 
ambition  over,  because  as  he  wrote,  his  mind 
was  not  as  fresh  as  it  might  be.  Then  he  would 
write  that  the  boys  wanted  him  to  become  a 
member  of  the  basket-ball  team,  but  he  had 
refused,  because,  he  argued,  so  old  a  man,  and 
so  tall  a  one,  would  not  do  in  playing  against  six- 
teen and  eighteen-year-olds!  In  spring,  he  had 
trouble  with  his  French.  Then  a  complica- 
tion of  physical  troubles  cropped  out,  as  if  to 
test  his  patience.  Finally,  after  being  confined 
to  his  bed  by  illness,  and  having  had  to  forego 
the  final  examinations,  he  decided  that  he  was 
too  old  to  keep  at  it,  and  that  he  had  too  many 
handicaps.  He  went  to  the  West,  thus  keeping 
to  his  old  intention,  and  after  he  had  secured 
the  position  as  "boss"  of  a  large  gang  of  men, 

[403] 


THROUGH    THE    SCHOOL 

on  construction  work,  a  "shirt-sleeved,  and 
white  collar  job"  as  he  termed  it,  he  wrote  to 
me  the  following  letter. 

"My  DEAR  COUSIN: 

Don't  feel  at  all  that  you  did  me  a  bad  turn 
by  having  me  go  to  that  school  for  a  year.  It 
was  the  most  profitable  investment  I  have  ever 
made !  I  find  that  out  more  and  more  each  day. 
It  has  released  me,  perhaps  forever,  from  that 
miserable  hand  drudgery  I  always  hated,  for  in 
that  single  year's  contact  with  polite  speech,  with 
teachers,  and  with  the  finer  opportunities  of  life, 
I  was  given  more  confidence  in  myself  and  my 
opportunities.  I  am  not  afraid  to  approach 
educated  people  any  more.  I  hold  my  head  up 
higher;  I  feel  myself  more  of  a  man.  I  can 
even  write  at  the  end  of  my  letter,  something 
impossible  before,  'Remunda  de  pasturaje  hace 
becerros  gordos,'  which  is  a  Spanish  proverb  out 
here  for,  *  Change  of  pasture  makes  fat  calves!' 
God  bless  our  schools ! " 


THE  EN'D 


[404] 


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A     000  676  237     1 


